Darkest Before Dawn
by last1stnding
Summary: A continuation of the season finale, In The Wind. Possible spoilers but I rather doubt it. Peter is in jail, Neal is distraught and June has a plan. In the meantime, James Bennett grows increasingly desperate.
1. Chapter 1

_**This story is for Lisa, who believed in it even after I had twice given up on it. I hope it lives up to your expectations. **_

_**I own nothing about White Collar; I'm only borrowing the characters.**_

_Well, he wanted to know what sort of man his father was, didn't he? _

_Now, he knew. All the self-imposed armor from his teenaged years, pierced with effortless ease by a man who told everybody that he had been the victim of bad luck and bad breaks. Despite being more than old enough to know better, Neal Caffrey had dropped his guard and dared to believe, just a little bit. Then, he had read the papers and his father's furtive arrival had confirmed what he thought had been the worst. But James had dropped off the ultimate tough love edict, on his way out. "In life, somebody has to take the fall. Don't let it be you." _

_And now the world had gone to literal hell. _

_**Words to live by, Dad. **_

Feeling the consuming fire of anger and guilt rise like flames in a dry forest, Neal wanted to smash the sculptures, slash the paintings and throw the paints. Anything to destroy that mocking, deceitful image. His father had commented on that particular painting, had oohed and aahed over his talent. He would take a knife to it now; he never wanted to hear those words of praise again.

What a sorry legacy. Not only was James Bennett seemingly unconcerned about his son's regard but it seemed to Neal that James might even be getting a bit of extra satisfaction knowing it was Peter Burke who was wearing the handcuffs and doing the walk of a disgraced lawman being marched off to prison. Neal had put Peter on a pedestal; maybe this was James' way of getting back at him.

Or maybe Neal was giving James too much credit for thinking or even caring what his son thought. Maybe it was immaterial to James who took the blame for his latest shooting; just as long as he got away. The fact that it was Peter really didn't make any difference. It wasn't James; that was all important to his father. Suddenly, Neal felt like it could have been him who had taken the fall and James would have said, 'tough' and moved on.

Neal paced throughout his loft in nervous agitation, swiping an easel out of his way, knocking the half-finished painting to the floor. He left it there, taking no great care if he stepped on it. Despite his words of a couple of weeks ago, Neal really didn't see Peter as a father figure. Not all the time at least. Peter was mentor, partner, soul mate in the never ending adrenalin rush to be the smartest guy in the room. Peter was that irritating voice of his conscience. Sometimes Peter was an irritant, plain and simple; two words that Neal genuinely despised his entire life. But somehow, through all the problems and misunderstandings, they had endured. Neal knew better than anyone what Peter was enduring right now; he had gone through it himself. He remembered well the soul wringing clang of finality of the cell door. Recalled with vivid clarity the loss of freedom like it was the onset of a terminal disease. Most of all though, it was the crushing depression of isolation; cut off from friends, from Kate. It was the onset of hopelessness.

But there was one huge difference. Neal was guilty of the crime he was convicted of and it wasn't nearly as serious as murdering a United States senator. Peter, however, was totally innocent. Neal felt sick when he thought about what his friend, his partner, was going through now.

What must Peter be thinking? Like father, like son?

He wanted Peter Burke here, standing in front of him, so he could grab him by the head and force Peter to look him in the eye and shout, "I didn't do this! It was my lousy, worthless father who ran this time!"

Picturing himself in Peter's place, Neal knew what he would think. Neal and his long lost father had played the long con to perfection. They evened the score and got away cleanly. Mozzie made it out unscathed. Leaving one government suit to take the fall.

Neal suddenly picked up the painting and flung it out through the doors to the terrace, disappointed that he didn't break some glass at least.

Just when he was about to embark on his scorched earth campaign, he noticed June Ellington standing the doorway. "Neal. Whatever has happened? I saw your father leave in a hurry." She paused as she noted the stark desolation in his face. "Tell me," June commanded as she came further into the room.

Neal really didn't want to. It was a sorry tale to tell. But June wasn't leaving and looked determined to get an answer. He was so confused and hurt, he ended up blurting out the entire story. He concluded with, "My father," Neal spat out the word angrily, "walked off after shooting a U.S. Senator and leaving Peter to take the blame … and he doesn't care. Dear old Dad considers himself lucky." Neal was swamped by anguish and regret. He needed to think, but his head was spinning and Peter was counting on him and June was here, waiting and….

June sighed and approached Neal, placing her arm around him and pulling him close. "So, what are we going to do about this?" She asked calmly.

It was like a pail of cold water being flung on his overheated brain. The hysteria damped down; the anger needed to be placed aside. There was no time for drama; he needed to plan.

Suddenly, Neal smiled through the tears he was unaware had tracked down his face. He looked at June, with warmth and gratitude. "Thank you."

June smiled back. "You just needed somebody to focus your thoughts."

Neal made a small sound in his voice. "That is something," his breath caught for a moment, "Peter would do. Make me focus."

June shrugged. "It's something a friend will always do for another friend." Giving his arm a pat, she sat down at the dining room table, drawing him down to the chair next to her. "Have you talked to Elizabeth?"

His new found calm flew out through the terrace doors. "No. I don't know if she knows yet, although I'm sure Diana will call her." In an uncontrolled burst of remorse, he added, "She will hate me, June. She never wanted Peter involved in this business with my father, not since the car accident." Trying unsuccessfully to slow his breathing, he dredged up a bitter smile, "I am probably the last person on earth she wants to see."

June smiled sadly. "Neal, I imagine she is a very scared, desperate and angry woman who feels totally alone right now. She would see anyone at any time if they could help Peter." She shook her head, as if dismissing some memories. "I know how she feels. Ford made a couple of injudicious moves once and Byron was arrested for it. They didn't have enough proof to hold him but I remember vividly that three a.m. call from jail. I would have dealt with the devil himself to get him out. Elizabeth will feel the same." June visibly gathered herself. "So, is there an arrest warrant out for you?"

"I'm not sure; probably. I should stay away," Neal said, thinking furiously. These last hours had all run together now. He leaned closer to June. "The good news is that I have Ellen's evidence box, thanks to Moz, the one everyone is looking for. I've only skimmed a few papers but enough to know that my Dad is a killer." Neal was secretly proud he had regained enough equilibrium to sound objective, even though his heart was still racing. "Maybe there is something in there I can use as leverage to free Peter. I don't know how much Moz knows of what has happened. Maybe I'll join him, study the papers and see what my next move should be. But none of this helps Elizabeth, I'm afraid," he added, almost angrily.

"You leave Elizabeth to me," June declared firmly. "I am in a better position to help her and Peter right now than you are. Do you know if they have a lawyer?"

"I think so," Neal pondered. "But I doubt that he is a criminal attorney."

"Well, I keep an overpaid shyster on retainer. I think I'll just let him earn his pay for a change," June declared.

They were interrupted by June's frightened maid. "Ma'am, there are police cars and black SUVs parking in the street out front! I think they are coming here!"

Neal grabbed the papers, assisted by June. "Go out the bootlegger's door," June ordered calmly.

Neal smiled. "I know it well." He hesitated. "Will you be all right?"

June made shooing motions with her hands. "Of course I will. I've butted heads before with pompous fools!"

"Thanks. Oh, and June? When you see Elizabeth-"

"I'll make sure she understands and I will get word to Peter too, somehow. You can count on it. Now go!"

Neal, clutching the precious evidence box, left in a hurry.

_**WC WC WC**_

"_How long have you had a drinking problem, Agent Burke?"_

"_How long have you suspected your wife of being unfaithful to you?"_

"_Your mortgage is paid up to date. Did you use the money you received from killing Senator Pratt to secure your house? Is there a big lump sum payoff coming?"_

"_How long you have sympathized with this country's enemies?"_

"_When did you decide when Senator Pratt had to die?"_

"_How long have you been in love with your CI?"_

Drawn and haggard, Peter Burke stared down the latest questioner, a young, politically ambitious hotshot from OPR named Harvey who delighted in ruining FBI careers. Harvey returned the glare with one of his own; smug and full of righteousness. "Well?" He demanded pompously.

Peter, his voice dry and brittle, said bluntly, "This is possibly the stupidest interrogation I have ever participated in. We sit here wasting time while you throw mud and hope something sticks and the real killer gets further away."

"Ah, yes. As you told Agent Calloway, Caffrey's father no less, a James Bennett, actually killed the senator while you stood around to watch. Were you in on the scheme all along? What did Caffrey and Bennett offer you?"

"Oh, you know, a bunch of money my supposedly unfaithful wife could spend while I am in prison pining away for my CI. Just your average bribe!" Peter snapped.

"Well, if you were us," an older man named Owens said from his position near the wall, "Would you believe a story like yours?"

"Maybe not," Peter admitted. "But I would keep looking for James Bennett and then compare stories later."

"Good of you to share your advice," Harvey sneered. "Anything else you would do differently?"

"I've been arrested, booked and questioned for nearly-" Peter made a show of looking at his wrist where his watch had been taken off, "what, four hours now and I still haven't had my phone call or a lawyer present. If I were running this interrogation, I wouldn't be making these kinds of stupid mistakes!"

He was pleased to see a round of Significant Looks go around the three men and one woman in the room.

A Secret Service agent named Banning who so far had said nothing through the ordeal, gave Harvey a withering look. "He hasn't had a phone call yet? Or a lawyer?"

Harvey flushed angrily. "Let him have his damn phone call!" He blustered angrily. "Then put him back in holding. Maybe some time to think will help him figure out the truth!" Harvey impatiently motioned to be let out of the room, Owens trailing behind. Banning gave Peter an enigmatic look and left also.

Amanda Calloway pushed away from the table in the brightly lit interrogation room. "Peter, you do realize that Caffrey and his father set you up, don't you? They are out, free and clear, while you sit here, career ruined and your life essentially over. If you are lucky, you'll get life in prison." She smiled sadly, and then added in her childlike, southern accented voice, "Peter, I really am sorry. But you lost all perspective with Caffrey. You went so far over the line for him you couldn't even see it any more. Now he and his father have used you and thrown you away." She added with a quaint little smile, "FBI agents don't get to be best friends with crooks, Peter. They will stab you in the back every time."

Peter stared, his normally expressive face inscrutable. "Oh, thanks. If I had only known that earlier."

"I hated to arrest you, you know," Calloway said softly, ignoring his tone.

"I thought you were convinced of my guilt," Peter snapped.

"Oh, come on, Peter! With all of that circumstantial evidence, I had to arrest you!" Calloway snapped back. "You would have done the same in that situation."

"Probably. But I would also be out turning over every rock and dive in this city to find James Bennett."

"We are looking!" Calloway protested.

Peter gave her a stony stare. "I've had enough of the good cop routine, Agent Calloway. I'd like my phone call, **now**."

Calloway sighed dramatically and gestured to the door. "Go ahead."

_**WC WC WC**_

The phone had hardly rung once before the sweetest voice he'd ever heard in his life answered with a wary hello.

"Hi, hon," Peter could hardly choke out the endearment.

"Peter! My God, where are you? I expected your call hours ago! What is happening now?" Elizabeth spoke in a rapid rush.

"You know already?" Peter asked shakily, trying to ignore his stinging eyes and rapidly closing throat.

"Thank God, Diana called me. I'm trying to get hold of Alexander Stephens but so far I haven't gotten a reply. Are they questioning you without a lawyer present?" Elizabeth asked sharply.

El sounded angry, outraged and defiant. By contrast, Peter felt like a balloon with the air being slowly let out, drained and so very tired. "They have been and we can use this, El. Mark down what time I called. My arrest paperwork will show the time I was processed. Unless they get creative with the time," he added wearily.

Elizabeth caught his tone. "Peter, we are going to fight this and we are going to win. I will not live my life without you and I will do whatever it takes to make this right. Do you hear me?"

Peter smiled; _God, he loved this woman._ "Yes, I do. I love you," he added impulsively.

There was a slight pause and when Elizabeth replied, her voice was choked and strained. "I love you too, Peter Burke. Nothing will ever change that."

A guard appeared and pointed at his watch. Peter thought about protesting but quickly realized that fallen federal agents and accused senatorial assassins didn't have right like common criminals. "Hon, I think I'm going to have to go."

"What about Stephens? El asked quickly. "Can you think of a better lawyer?"

"I'm not sure we can afford him," Peter admitted.

"I will sell everything but Satchmo and live on a park bench if I have to," El replied briskly. "Where are you?"

"Downtown federal detention," Peter replied, thinking hollowly it wasn't that far from his office in physical distance. But in everything else, it was another galaxy away.

The guard stepped closer. A second guard joined him. Both wore looks of 'move now'.

Peter sighed. "El, I do have to go. One last thing; have you heard from Neal?"

Silence answered him for a moment until Elizabeth said simply, "No."

Peter swallowed. "You will, El."

"I hope so. Or I will find him," Elizabeth said darkly.

"Off the phone now, Burke!" the first guard shouted, feeling his authority.

"I love you, El," Peter said quickly. He could only hear 'I love-' in reply when the phone went dead. One of the guards had disconnected the call with an 'I dare you' look on his face.

They pretty much man handled him away and Peter had to work to stop the fervent desire to launch a counterattack. But that was exactly what they wanted so he went along, gritting his teeth.

He endured some more time of 'non questioning' from some of Harvey's lesser lights, nothing he was forced to answer without a lawyer present of course. Peter realized from past experience that everything had hit the fan with Pratt's death and now numerous government agencies were looking to get in on the kill and hopefully, exonerate themselves of any negligence. He was fatigued but he'd also done his share of hard ball interrogations, ironically the last one with one Neal Caffrey. It didn't really matter to him; Peter could dish it out and he could take it. Besides, it occupied his mind from the morass of disaster he was currently mired in.

Later, he stood alone in a cell with a solitary camera watching his every move. Harvey had insisted on a suicide watch for some insane reason. Peter fingered the light blue jumpsuit he now wore; his clothes had been taken from him and all personal effects earlier. He dully realized that Peter Burke, FBI agent was gone; Peter Burke, accused assassin of a U.S. Senator stood in his place. And it easily could be this way for the rest of his life.

He dropped wearily onto the hard bunk. Neal would be disappointed that his clothes weren't orange (yet) and the younger man could get some payback. He worried about Neal; wondered what his father had told him after his arrest. Neal, for all of his vast intelligence and skillful lying, could be duped, especially by a father who had haunted his dreams and thoughts his entire life. Had James told Neal what happened? What did Neal do? Argue with his father? Or be talked into thinking this was his only chance for freedom, running again. Peter knew there was an arrest warrant out for Neal as well as James; assaulting a U.S. senator didn't set well with society. Maybe Neal was lying low, trying to figure out what to do next? Or maybe Neal decided to live the dream of his life and leave with James, his long absent father. He wouldn't forget Peter though; Neal would probably send some little care packages and holiday cards to brighten the days in prison. _Sweet._

Peter cut off the thought abruptly; he had a killer headache and was feeling tired and sick. They brought him some food and water (no coffee; probably that bastard Harvey's doing) but his stomach rebelled at the mere sight of it. He was hungry but he couldn't eat. He was exhausted but he knew sleep was out of the question. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he thought again about Neal. Despite his earlier pessissim he knew deep down that Neal would not abandon him. More than likely Neal would drop in from a hot air balloon, fedora on his head and, looking dapper, to break him out of prison. Peter couldn't help it; his snort of disbelief became a small smile at the thought of Mozzie up in the basket, probably wearing his Amelia Earhart outfit. What a duo he and Neal made.

Peter was careful to hide the smile from the camera though as he was sure Harvey would find that to be an admissionable expression of guilt in court. _Was there anyone in OPR who wasn't a jackass now days?_

He sat alone, with a thousand fruitless thoughts for company and an achingly clear hindsight vision of all the things that had gone wrong.

Phil Kramer's voice rang through his head as if he were present now.

'_**Are you handling Caffrey or becoming him?'**_

Phil must be enjoying some sweet revenge now, telling everyone in DC in that homey, worldly wise, gravelly voice about how he had seen this train wreck coming and he had tried to stave off disaster. What a shame about Agent Burke. But he had lost objectivity and had disgraced the Bureau. Now look at him.

Peter laid his aching head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He desperately wanted to rest but his mind chased his thoughts around in circles. _Are they looking for Bennett? Where was Neal? How would he ever make this up to Elizabeth? His last sight of his darling wife was a delighted woman ecstatic over a sushi date. The idiots had better not harass her! A prolonged trial with a high priced lawyer would drain their savings. What would happen to Diana and Jones? Would his team get their careers blackballed for working with him? What would his parents think? Worse, El's parents? He shuddered even thinking about Doctor Mitchell. _

It went on and on, with no end in sight.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Many thanks for all the alerts, favorites and especially the reviews.**_

Elizabeth Burke stood in the middle of their living room, unable to sleep or even sit after Peter's long awaited phone call. She had ran the gamut of emotion these past few hours; happily primping for her dinner date with her husband, then receiving Diana's shocking call. That had given way to fiery anger as government agents armed with a search warrant had shown up to ransack the house – again. They did not press the issue of questioning her without a lawyer but Satchmo was so upset he had to be put out in the yard due to his nonstop growling at the intruders. Elizabeth was furious at their insinuating questions about Peter. His alleged money problems – like she was unaware of how much money they had in savings – to his 'affairs'; Sara Ellis had come up in that and El was torn between laughing and anger at their pathetic attempts to sow distrust. The real kicker had been when they told her that Peter was in love with Neal. After that she told them to get the hell out and start looking for the real killer.

Finally, they left but didn't go very far. There were strange vehicles parked along the street on both sides, irritating the neighbors. Elizabeth was sure they had electronic surveillance on the house as well. She really needed someone to talk to; she felt so alone. Her heart broke all over again when she realized she couldn't press one on the speed dial and hear her husband's voice.

After a while, she did press two (when was that stupid lawyer ever going to call her back?) and in a surprisingly short time her mother answered.

Yes, they knew something serious had happened with Peter as government agents awoke them in their house with all sorts of questions. Her father however, was busily engaged in giving them the steely eye that also unnerved Peter, and asking questions of his own, designed to judge the rigidity and shallowness of the government bureaucratic mind set. In short, Mozzie would have loved it. El smiled through that tears that ran heedless down her face. Her parents stood with her and Peter and she never needed them more.

Assuring each other they would keep in constant contact, Elizabeth sat alone on the couch, Satch by her side, waiting. Her heart ached for her husband, alone and isolated for a crime he didn't commit. She needed to call Peter's parents but they were on their cruise through the Panama Canal. She hated to ruin the trip of a lifetime but hearing their news about their son from somebody else would be devastating. Reluctantly, El took care of that chore and the cruise company assured her they would get word to the Burkes right away.

Somebody finally called her back from Stephens' office; the lawyer was in Europe on vacation. She was directed to another partner of the firm, somebody had never heard of. But it was better than nothing so she let them forward the call – to another answering service. They promised her that Mr. Wheeler would call back immediately. So, left again to her thoughts, she wondered about Neal. Where was he? What was he doing? Elizabeth knew that Neal would never support any scheme to frame Peter but she did wonder about the influence his father held over him. She had to admit, she was charmed by the two of them together, after nearly a lifetime apart. Now she wished James Bennett had never crossed the threshold into her house. From what Diana had hurriedly told her, James was the one who shot Senator Pratt – and then ran. It was impossible to think that Neal would not know where to find him. So why wasn't he doing anything now? Or maybe he was. The lack of information was maddening.

She ran her hands over her face; her new red dress she was so proud of was now wrinkled and looked awful. Her eye makeup had run down her face. She didn't care. She was so alone right now and she missed Peter with a physical ache.

Elizabeth had finally taken off her shoes when the doorbell rang. The sound made her jump and Satch bark. She wondered wearily if the government agents were back for another round.

Peeking out, she was surprised to see June Ellington standing on her doorstep.

Stammering a bit, Elizabeth held the door open as June swept in. "June, I am so happy to see you."

June dropped her purse and simply opened her arms. Elizabeth fell into them, suddenly crying. After a moment, she pulled back, self-consciously wiping off her tears and she tried to maneuver Satchmo away from sniffing June up and down. "Sorry," El apologized, "he is upset by all the strangers that have been here and he keeps looking for Peter."

June took in the rumpled red dress, the tear streaked face and the look of utter desolation. "Dear Elizabeth, I came over as soon as I could."

Elizabeth, hating to point it out but know it was grossly unfair if she didn't, said, "June, you may have put yourself on their radar by coming over here."

June waved a hand. "Oh, they have already been to my house, looking for Neal. But we have a more pressing problem right now. Have you gotten a lawyer for Peter yet?"

El looked desperately unhappy. "My first choice is on a European vacation. They are contacting some partner of his, a Parker J. Wheeler."

June made an impatient noise, "Well, he will never do. I've taken the liberty of contacting my lawyer, Arthur Anderson."

El gasped. "**The** Arthur Anderson? The one who cleared that state senator of bribery charges? The one who got that movie starlet off with probation?"

June beamed. "That's him. Byron and I had known him for years. He will be delighted to have a client who is actually innocent for a change!"

El wiped her stinging eyes again but a shadow crossed her face. June, guessing what it might be, impulsively reached over to place her arm around the younger woman's shoulders. "We will not worry about money, dear. Our objective is to clear Peter of this dreadful charge. Everything else is trivial."

Elizabeth smiled and hugged June again. "I cannot thank you enough for this. You are a godsend, June." Beckoning June into the kitchen, she turned on the stove exhaust fan and the television, the volume on high. "This won't stop them probably from eavesdropping but I need to know, what about Neal?"

June sighed. "He left my house just before those horrid government agents came in. He is very upset that his father would do such a horrible thing. Naturally, he is worried sick about Peter. But he is not leaving, Elizabeth." She leaned in to whisper in El's ear. "He has the papers."

Elizabeth looked bleak. "But no James?"

"James went storming out; I think they quarreled, bitterly. James is running but with both Neal and the FBI after him, I cannot think he would get very far."

"Peter would catch him," El said dully. "But they threw him in jail."

June gave her another reassuring squeeze. "Well, we are not going to let that stand now, are we?"

Elizabeth visibly gathered herself. "We can't," she replied in a near whisper.

June surveyed her. "I'll bet you haven't eaten a thing, have you?"

El shrugged. "Peter and I were supposed to go out tonight," she said in a strained voice. Suddenly she was so tired. "But, June, shouldn't we get this Arthur Anderson going?"

June held up her phone. "He's waiting for my call, right now. He does so love upsetting government apple carts. And so do I," she added with a purr. "Then we'll have something to eat, my dear."

_**WC WC WC**_

"There is enough in here to bury Pratt's reputation and not in a good way," Mozzie said, scanning through the stack of papers in a brand new safe house that hadn't even been christened a day yet. Flicking a glance at the silent Neal Caffrey who stood nearby, he added gently, "I take it you have already read the details about your father."

"James," Neal corrected flatly. "I am going back to believing my father is dead. Because he is to me."

Mozzie leaned back in his chair. "So, how are we going to play this?"

Neal finally pushed away from the wall and sat down, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "I need to get this to somebody who will take it to somebody who can be trusted, higher up."

Mozzie snorted. "Yes, well, good luck with that. There's been a scarcity of honest government officials around for some time now. And the FBI seems to be a veritable cesspool of corruption now days."

Neal managed a small smile. "You mean they were better in the old days?"

"Well, at least it was a more honest kind of corruption."

Neal stared. "Do you have any idea of how ironic that sounds coming from you?"

Mozzie took off his glasses and polished them. "It used to be like a business transaction. Money changed hands, people looked the other way, jobs got done. Except for the invincible FBI of course. But now they're just like the beat cop on the corner with his hand out." Glasses polished and back on his nose, Mozzie repeated, "So, mon frère, what is our next move?"

Neal sat down. "I'm going to get this to Hughes; after we have made copies, of course. It cannot come from me."

"Alas, your mastery of forging documents does not help us in this case," Mozzie observed.

"Hughes and I, we'd kind of reached an understanding," Neal said, remembering the times with the brusque, hardnosed boss of the White Collar division. "I know he'll do whatever it takes to help clear Peter." A bitter look crossed Neal's face. "The last thing Hughes told me before he left was take care of Peter. I did a great job of that, didn't I?" he added with a self-loathing laugh.

Mozzie held up a hand. "We need to focus on the problem, Neal. Later, we'll go out and analyze where we all went wrong, namely in trusting James. All of us did, to some extent, even Peter."

Neal gave his friend a look. "You didn't though, did you, Moz?"

Mozzie shrugged. "I didn't care for his attitude. Plus, I've heard several hundred times in this lifetime from guys 'who didn't do it' or 'somebody else was lying' and I knew for a fact **they** were not telling the truth. No great deduction there. You were too emotionally involved to see it and the Suit was caught up in walking the line between us and the FBI." He waved a hand. "So, you take this to Hughes. Then what?"

"Hopefully, I can get cleared from the assault charge on Pratt. I'm sure the Bureau has conscripted everybody's cameras by now. Then, we set out to find James and clear Peter." Neal dropped his gaze for a moment. "That is, if you're still in, Moz. This could get rough."

"Danger has no meaning for me," Mozzie said loftily. "Of course I'm in. I'm insulted that you would even think differently."

Neal smiled in heartfelt relief. "Thanks, Moz."

Mozzie did not return the smile though. "What about Peter? And Elizabeth? We need to do something there, Neal."

"June went over to see Elizabeth and, most importantly, get her lawyer on board, Arthur Anderson."

"He's a celebrity lawyer," Mozzie said, dismissively. "Oh, wait. I do remember fifteen years ago, he did get that rookie cop off the hook for bribery and corruption when most of the precinct was involved, not the kid. I stand corrected; he will be good." His face darkening, Mozzie asked quietly, "What if this Anderson can't clear Peter and we can't find James? I don't want to sound pessimistic but…."

Neal slumped. "I have to get Peter out of this and I will do whatever it takes, Moz. If we fail and they convict him, I'm going to break him out. If you could get Elizabeth out first, I'll use what's left of my share of the treasure to set them up in a new life, somewhere. Preferably an island where there isn't a Top Ten fugitive hiding already, that is."

Mozzie waved a hand. "One little detail." He paused. "I'm not sure how the Suit will feel about a lifetime of being wanted and running."

"A lifetime seeing Elizabeth only on Sundays will change his mind," Neal replied quietly, thinking of Kate. "Especially when he is innocent and the system failed him."

Moz hurriedly swallowed his wine. "Okay, let us headquarter here until I get a new place secured. I do not trust any of the usual spots right now. I will get started on copies of the papers and you find a way to contact Hughes. Then I have some things to do."

"Moz, you can't get caught," Neal warned.

"We have to get eyes and ears out there to help the bungling feds, especially as they stupidly put their star player on the bench. Then, I will drop in stealth mode to see Mrs. Suit. We can't let the Suit family think they are abandoned in this."

Neal nodded, with a rarely seen cold look in his eyes. "No, we are not abandoning them. There is somebody else though I'm going to hang out to dry."


	3. Chapter 3

Peter nearly fell over in shock when he entered the room and met his lawyer. Arthur Anderson was balding, pudgy man in a superbly tailored suit who looked like a jovial sort – until you met him on the other side of the court room. Then, he went for the jugular.

Anderson stood and offered his hand. "Arthur Anderson. At the behest of your wife, I am going to represent you in this matter."

Peter shook his hand, still in a bit of a daze. "Mr. Anderson-"

"Arthur," the man corrected, staring at the guards until they went outside.

"Arthur, I'm not sure how my wife got-"

"I represent Mrs. June Ellington in all of her legal matters," Anderson interrupted smoothly. "When June chooses to involve herself in something like this, it is always my pleasure to assist her in any way I can. Besides, it has been rather dull since Byron passed and since the Ellingtons helped pay my way through law school, it is the least I can do. I have been reading up on you, Agent Burke, and I have found the whole Senator Pratt story quite compelling for some time now. And not necessarily in a good way. So let us begin; time is wasting."

Peter found himself recounting the whole sorry mess; Anderson took notes and scribbled furiously, nodding at some points, frowning at others. The session went on for some time until Anderson leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his cherubic face.

"Ah, if only all of my witnesses were so clear – and honest- on details. I'm getting ahead of myself but I like to know if my client can take the stand on their own behalf. You are not only up to that challenge, you will be a major asset, if it comes to that."

Peter rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was so weary. But he also picked up on Anderson's tone. "You think we have something to work with, then?"

Anderson looked thoughtful. "I won't pretend that this won't be difficult. If only this James Bennett could be apprehended, it would make life easier. But yes, I do see some light. We will have to play this carefully however."

A guard appeared at the door with another man, plus OPR agent Harvey. "Time's up, Burke. Back to your cell," Harvey said with great satisfaction.

"Oh, I don't think so, mister, what is your name again?" Anderson stood up, looking like he was peering around for a name badge.

"Harvey, Agent Barry Harvey, Mr. Anderson. And yes, I do think so."

Anderson nodded at a second man who lingered behind the guard. He nodded back. "My client has a right to see his wife, whom my associate tells me has been waiting patiently. As I already have you on several violations of my client's rights, I think he can see his wife. Unless you want even more trouble."

Anderson's shark like smile never wavered and Harvey abruptly spun on his heel. "All right. But no more than twenty minutes and that's non negioatable."

About five long minutes later, Elizabeth Burke walked in. Peter stood and she raced into his arms. They both clutched at each other, trying to speak but failing. Arthur Anderson edged out of the room, as did the guard but they remained at the window, able to see if not hear everything.

Peter held onto his wife tightly, his knees suddenly shaking. "Hon, I am so sorry," he managed through the tears that suddenly ran down his face without any conscious knowledge of them. "I am so sorry I have dragged you into this."

Elizabeth reached up to cup his face in her hands, with tears coursing down her cheeks. "Peter, don't blame yourself. You are the last person who should be blamed for anything. We are going to get through this and we are going to survive it. You are innocent and everybody knows it. Everybody who counts anyway. Do you like your lawyer?" she asked slyly.

Peter, never letting go of his wife, managed a shaky laugh. "To say I was shocked is an understatement. But, by the time this is over, we are going to be so broke."

"As long as we're together, I don't care," Elizabeth replied, reaching up to kiss him deeply again.

Reluctantly they broke apart and sat down at the table, silent for a moment, their eyes just drinking in the sight of each other. Then, Peter asked, "Have you heard anything?"

Elizabeth heard the unspoken 'from Neal' and shook her head. "June says Neal argued with his father and then ran off to avoid the agents at her house. He is very upset and angry."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, great. Just what we need. Neal off the rails."

Elizabeth touched his other hand. "He isn't going to run though. Diana called me on the way here. Calloway has everybody out looking for James, but they haven't found him yet."

Peter frowned. "James isn't Neal; roadblocks and wanted posters just might get him."

They talked a bit more; Elizabeth admitted that both their respective parents had been notified and were questioned. Peter's parents were headed back as soon as they could arrange transportation. Peter drooped even lower hearing the news. "It sounds like I have just screwed up everyone's life," he muttered.

Elizabeth felt her heart constrict; he looked so tired and so …. beaten. "You were doing your job in bringing a corrupt senator to justice. This is why we are all so proud of you."

Peter cocked an eyebrow at her. "Even your Dad?"

Elizabeth laughed, just a little. "My Dad is in heaven right now. He is psychoanalyzing everyone in sight."

Their time together flew by and all too soon the guard, a different one from earlier, reluctantly approached them to say time was up. Elizabeth held onto Peter, arms around his waist, as he shook hands with Arthur Anderson and thanked him for getting Elizabeth in.

They kissed a final time and then Peter was led back to his cell. Once there however, he still couldn't sleep. He worried about Elizabeth and about Neal too. An emotionally distraught Neal always meant big trouble in the past. He felt a raging helplessness, being stuck in here while Neal dealt with the treachery of his father and his team wandered around under Calloway's inept leadership to search for Bennett. It was a discouraging scenario.

_**WC WC WC**_

Reese Hughes dropped wearily into his easy chair in the den, his man cave, as his wife liked to call it. _What an ungodly mess. _The latest phone calls from his friends were not encouraging. The worst possible scenario had occurred and now his favorite agent, a man whom he had taken a father's pride in, was sitting in jail. Switching on the desk lamp, Reese decided to pour himself a Scotch when he became aware that he wasn't alone.

Neal Caffrey emerged from the shadows of the bookcase. "I let myself in."

Hughes nearly dropped his drink. "Dammit, Caffrey, if I had been armed, I probably would have pulled the trigger."

Neal smiled, one that did not reach his eyes. "Lucky for me you're retired then."

Hughes noticed that Neal had a messenger bag over his shoulder. "Let's cut the crap. All hell has broken loose and here you are, hiding in my den, wanted, as usual. What do you have?"

Neal unslung the bag and placed it on Hughes' desk. "The papers from the evidence box that everybody has spent the last two days looking for."

Hughes leaned forward, the intent look of the hunter in his eye. "And what do we have?"

"Every dirty deal that Pratt has ever been involved in for several years. Names of his associates."

Grimacing, Hughes muttered, "That helps but it also helps build a case against Peter as he could have been killed in that car wreck Pratt's associate arranged. Prosecution might argue Burke wanted revenge."

Neal took a deep breath. "Ellen also names my father as a murderer; he did kill his supervising officer so many years ago. Plus my father admitted his guilt to me, just last evening. He is the one who shot Pratt."

Hughes leaned back again, this time with a measuring look toward Neal. "And you are willing to have this come to light? You know there are certain circles in the Bureau and outside who think you and your father are in it together."

Neal jumped up to pace the room. "I think what matters now is what **you** think. I know you think I am a pain in the ass-"

"And that's still true," Hughes said abruptly. "But that is beside the point right now. What do you want me to do with these? I'm assuming you are planning on leaving them here?"

"I want to get the truth out there. I want Peter cleared of these charges and I will do whatever it takes to make that happen." Neal dropped back into the chair opposite Hughes, the reading lamp throwing weird shadows on the walls. He looked tired, spent. "I guess I didn't do a very good job of taking care of Peter, did I?"

Hearing this, Hughes did take a swallow of his drink, looking uncomfortable. He indicated that Neal should take another glass from the tray with the bottle but the younger man refused. "Well," Hughes took another medicinal swallow, "you can't beat yourself up on that too much. Or at least you aren't alone. I helped put Peter in this as well." Briefly he recounted his dawn meeting with Peter and what he had told his lead agent. Or used to be lead agent, he mentally corrected himself. "So, I share the blame, Caffrey. I told Peter to take chances and step outside the law. I am not about to distance myself from him now. I've had my eye on him for some time to take over my spot. But I knew he wasn't ready to leave the field yet and I didn't think I was ready to leave my job. But that all fell by the wayside. Now it is time to serve out justice to those who keep sullying the Bureau's reputation and politicians who use law enforcement as their own private collection agencies."

Neal leaned forward, a spark of light and energy in his eyes. "So, what will you do with these?"

"Use them" Hughes declared abruptly. "As I told Peter, I have some friends outside of the Bureau. We also need to get you cleared of this assault charge on Pratt. Did you do it?"

Neal looked him in the eye. "No, sir, I did not."

"You have to come in, Caffrey." He held up a hand at Neal's mutinous look. "It will look a lot better for you to surrender yourself voluntarily and get back on that anklet, ASAP. Let me make a few calls. Leave me a number I can contact you. I'll be in touch."

Reluctantly, Neal agreed. Hughes offered to show him out – quietly as in not waking the wife – but Neal shook his head no and with a small smile, went out the window so smooth and silently it was like he wasn't even there at all. "Damn Caffrey," Hughes muttered but there was a fond exasperation in his voice and he began dialing the phone.

_**WC WC WC**_

Elizabeth told herself she needed to sleep when she returned home but her mind would not shut off. She kept reviewing what had been done and what should/could be done next. Satchmo wondered at this interruption in their routine but loyally stayed with her, although he eventually had the good sense to seek out the comfort of his dog bed.

There was a soft tapping at the back door. Elizabeth started and wondered why she hadn't gotten Peter's spare gun out of the safe in the bedroom before now. It wasn't loaded but if some stupid newspaper reporter was in the backyard the scare tactic might work. She was angry enough to try it.

_No reporter_. Mozzie looked in, a mixture of hope and trepidation on his face.

Elizabeth got up from the dining room table to let him in but the door swung open at her touch. "It would be too much loss of face to allow you to unlock the door first," Moz apologized as he entered, greeting a now awake Satch with some pats on the head.

Elizabeth suddenly grinned, a tired smile, and impulsively hugged Mozzie close. After a startled minute, he returned the gesture.

"You know there are government vehicles all up and down the street," El said, releasing the little man and gesturing him to a chair.

"Amateurs," Mozzie scoffed. "I've already jammed their surveillance equipment and had no problem getting in here. Without your husband, the Bureau is an embarrassingly inept group." He hesitated a moment, clearly ill at ease. "How is Peter?"

"He is doing fine," Elizabeth said dully, "or at least that is what he would like everyone to think. But I know this has hit him hard." She looked sharper, suddenly on edge. "Where is Neal?"

Moz made a show of consulting his watch. "As of now, I imagine he has let himself into the house of a recently retired FBI agent named Hughes. With the evidence papers, I might add."

El pulled her legs up under her on the couch where the curtains had been tightly drawn. "Oh, thank God."

"You didn't really think he would run, did you?" Mozzie asked in disbelief.

"No, not really," El admitted. "But, sitting here, fighting half the night just to get a lawyer lined up…," she sighed. "Sometimes your imagination gets away from you."

"You are not alone," Mozzie said firmly. "Since you aren't going to rest, let's get caught up and see what we will do next. I'll make the tea," Mozzie added breezily, rising and heading for the kitchen, "I know where everything is."

Elizabeth sat on the couch, her face reflecting a mix of fondness and bemusement. But her eyes now held hope. _Neal hadn't run with his father. Neal was staying and fighting for Peter. Mozzie was here. June had been here – and found a lawyer. Diana and Jones had promised they would keep her – and Peter – informed, no matter what. Hope - and faith -was hard to kill. _


	4. Chapter 4

_**I'll probably be taking several liberties with the legal system, along with some other things, from here on out. It should not be too much more than the show itself does from time to time. I hope this doesn't lessen your enjoyment of the story. **_

_**As always, thank you for all the wonderful reviews.**_

Peter was led down the back hallway to the courtroom, handcuffs removed before he was to enter the courtroom. Arthur Anderson had told him just an hour before that somehow, some way, his identity had been kept from the circling vultures of the news media and his arraignment hearing was private and closed to the public. He felt great relief at that. Perhaps it was a hopeful sign, perhaps another portent to disaster. At this point, he almost felt numb. But he was back in his FBI suit again and stupidly perhaps, that was important.

When they brought him into the courtroom, Peter's heart sank when he saw so many present at what was supposed to be a closed hearing. Until he looked closer and then he was aghast at the mass career suicide he saw.

A goodly part of the White Collar division stood up when he came in; how they had managed to get past the door he had no idea. His eyes stung at the sign of respect he was receiving. _God, there was no way he could tear up now, with everybody watching. _But there they were; file clerks to agents, led by Clinton Jones and Diana Berrigan, front and center.

One other agent was profoundly uncomfortable. Amanda Calloway also sat in the front, a small distance away from Jones and Diana. Her face was flushed, probably with anger or maybe chagrin at this open display of defiance of her leadership. At any rate, it was not a ringing endorsement of her. Peter only hoped his team wouldn't have to pay for his mistakes.

Directly behind his chair, sat Elizabeth, looking insanely beautiful in a dark blue dress that matched her eyes. Beside her sat Reese Hughes, to Peter's surprise. An even bigger surprise was on El's right; a spot occupied by Neal Caffrey, who was also standing.

Peter wanted to ask a hundred questions but he was being gestured to sit down. He did turn around to look at Neal, who nodded yes and pointed to his ankle. Hiking his trouser leg up just enough, the green light shone. Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. _Thank God Neal hadn't jumped into the deep end. _

The hearing was short and not so sweet. Peter was denied bail. As he was rising, Reese Hughes said softly, "Stay strong, Peter. All is not lost."

Dying of curiosity, Peter traded a lingering look of longing with El, another cryptic silent exchange with Neal and, with a last look at his faithful team, he was led out.

_**WC WC WC**_

"Mrs. Burke, I presume?"

Elizabeth stood at her front door, with a blank look on her face. "Yes?" She said uncertainly with the 'what now' feeling in her stomach.

A dark haired young woman, well dressed, stood on the front step, seemingly unconcerned about the surveillance van parked on the street. "You don't know me personally but my name is Landon Shepherd." Seeing the look in El's eyes, she smiled tightly. "Ah. I see you do recognize the name. Perhaps we could go inside and talk?"

Cautiously, Elizabeth opened the door. Shepherd strode in confidently, setting down her bag and pulling out an electronic device that would have done Mozzie credit. She pushed a button and smiled. "Now, we have privacy. Your watchdogs can hear nothing."

"Um, that's nice," Elizabeth said, clearly off guard. "But, not to be rude, Ms. Shepherd, why are you here?"

Shepherd smiled approvingly although it did little to alter the cold expression on her face. "Good; I like that, straight to the point. I'm here, Mrs. Burke, to help you and your husband."

"Why? Peter had you arrested." Elizabeth said, disbelief coloring her tone.

Landon Shepherd smiled again, brightly. "Yes, he did, didn't he? But I didn't stay arrested for long. However, I am not here to make your troubles worse, Elizabeth. I may call you that, I hope."

"Okay, **Landon**," Elizabeth replied with a bit of bite in her voice. "But why?"

"Two reasons, actually. Well, maybe three. Sara Ellis is a good friend of mine. I contacted her with details of your husband's arrest." She held up a hand at El's protest. "I have many powerful people who owe me. It was easy for me to find out the chief suspect's identity in the Pratt shooting and I'm helping, unofficially as it were, to keep Agent Burke's name out of the media. Sara has asked me to do whatever I can to assist in freeing your husband. Secondly, I know of Senator Pratt's evil little empire and the minions who are still in their ill-gotten positions of power. I have been engaged by some parties whom I'm sure are unknown to you, to make sure the late Senator's dirty dealings see the light of day and in return, clear your husband's name. Third, I have great respect for your husband, Elizabeth. He is on the few honorable men I've come across in my work. He loves you and is faithful to you; that is something I see very rarely these days. He also bested me a few months ago; I respect that. He cheated a little by using that funny little man to go outside the law but the strategy was perfect. So, I am here to help."

"What are your fees?" Elizabeth asked with a sinking heart. She knew enough about the case to know Landon Shepherd wasn't in this for charity.

Shepherd shook her head, obviously feeling sorry that Elizabeth was such a dimwit. "Oh, I don't deal in money, Elizabeth. I use quite a different coin of the realm. There will be a day when I perhaps can get a favor from your husband in the future."

El sighed. "It sounds very like Faust to me."

Shepherd smiled even wider. "Oh, delightful comparison. Thank you!"

This time Elizabeth waved her hand. She was tired and felt unequal to the head games Landon Shepherd obviously excelled at. "Look, I didn't mean to insult you. I'm not sure why you are here and what you really want in return. I could tell you right here that I can promise Peter will do anything you want later on, just get him out of jail now. But I would be lying. Because, even though I would do it in a heartbeat, I can't promise Peter's help on some vague, maybe illegal act you would want him to do in the future."

Shepherd suddenly ceased with the strained act of smiling and instead nodded her head. "I think I begin to understand why Agent Burke is so faithful to you." Rising, she gathered up her electronic jammer and her purse. "Don't worry about it. Sara Ellis is picking up the tab. I might ask something of Peter in the future, but I won't ask him to rob a bank or throw a case. If he decides to go back to the FBI. He should consider going freelance. He could make a fortune."

Shepherd let herself out while Elizabeth stood there, dumbfounded. Now people whom Peter had arrested were turning up to help him, while the Bureau thought the worst of him – again. _What a weird world this had become. _

_**WC WC WC**_

"What's she doing now?" Diana Berrigan hissed angrily as she strode up to Clinton Jones' desk in the White Collar division.

Jones glanced up, where Amanda Calloway was busily going through the drawers of Peter Burke's desk. "Looking for the proverbial smoking gun, she hopes." His tone was calm but his dark eyes snapped with anger.

"I suppose she thinks she will find James Bennett in one of the drawers! Doesn't she know OPR has already been there?" Diana retorted.

"Well, she isn't going to find anything and neither did they." Jones said with a satisfied smile. "I was already there; got that baseball from the Yankees game that Peter keeps. I couldn't find anything that pertained to Caffrey and his father but I didn't expect to. Peter's too smart for that."

Diana turned to him, with a small smile on her face. "Hey, when did you go through his desk?"

Jones looked puzzled. "About two a.m., the night he was arrested. Just got out as OPR came in."

Diana laughed. "Beat you. I was there at one. Didn't find anything either but took that new picture of Elizabeth with me that he likes so well.

They both shared a secret laugh and returned to watch Calloway sitting at Peter's desk, looking frustrated.

_**WC WC WC**_

James Bennett savagely pushed off on the TV remote and flung it toward the wall, where an answering shout from the the drug addict next door answered him. He glared, spat out an oath and then went to pick up the remote. It would have shattered if not already duct taped together, several times.

James surveyed the fleabag hotel that had been his home since leaving the Neal's loft in anger and disgust. He needed to get out of here, needed to get out of this godforsaken city. He could feel the literal breath of the FBI down his neck. And yesterday there was that creep in a tee shirt that announced, 'I Do ID' who had watched him intently in the diner. Later he pulled out a cell phone when he thought James had left. James remained hidden nearby and was unsurprised to find Mozzie arriving twenty minutes later. They had conferred for a bit and then Mozzie left, but not without some parting instructions and evidently a new phone number.

_Great. Just great. Even the criminals thought Burke was a great guy evidently. Or maybe it was for Mozzie. Or even Neal. Whatever. _

It was trouble on all fronts. Obviously the Bureau wasn't completely buying the idea of Burke as Pratt's murderer. Feds always cover for each other. It was DC all over again. The news reports repeated the same line; a senior FBI agent arrested for the crime but they still wanted to talk to a person of interest. James's picture (a lousy one at that) then flashed over all the TV. It irritated him; Burke was in jail but James was all over the news, not Burke. _What was law enforcement coming to these days?_

And then there was his son. James' lip curled in disgust. Neal and his hero worship! It was like he was still six years old. He didn't know this adult man who was suddenly thrust into his life as his son. **His** son had been that darling little boy who'd worshipped every move he made back then. The son who he had taught to play catch and who wore his patrolman's hat with such pride. Not this young man who seemed to be waiting, watching and expecting things James could not give. He wasn't the same man of thirty years ago. It wasn't his fault. Life hadn't been kind – or fair. James had lost his family long ago and had walled off the hurt and devastation. During the intervening years, he learned you had to burn a few bridges along the way. You burned them before somebody burned you. If he'd realized that earlier, he would never have allowed Ellen to tamely take him in, put the cuffs on him and parade him around as the disgraced cop. No way. _**Never again.**_

Now Neal was so damn fond of Burke he was willing to forget all that garbage about his 'father'. He was willing to throw James under the bus. James didn't particularly like Burke; he hated the Feds on principle and the guy was one of them. But he also didn't hate him like he thought he would. However, when life handed you a golden opportunity, you'd be a fool to throw it back and James was no fool. If Neal had any brains at all, he's see this as his chance to be free as well. Just run; they were both in the clear. Mozzie would see the opportunity for what it was and take off too.

**But no. **

Incredibly, Neal's name had also been kept out of the public eye. All that was reported announced the second man in the alleged assault on the Senator before his death had been cleared of all charges. One thing was painfully obvious though. Neal, **his son**, had chosen Burke, the guy who had caught him on his little fantasy world crime spree, over his own father.

Well, there was gratitude for you. One could certainly tell that Neal had been raised by his mother and his Aunt Ellen, all right.

James sat down on the sagging bed, not much more than an old box springs and a dubious looking mattress in the corner. The peeling paint and the smell alone was enough to gag you. He **had **to get out. **Now. **The authorities had put a huge lockdown on the city; two days ago James had nearly walked into two FBI agents (from their appearances, it might have been Berrigan and Jones, from Burke's own team) questioning the grocer he'd bought some supplies from the night before. Later that night, James had cut and dyed his hair, jet black, which used to look good on him. What had happened there? He also bought some plain glasses so when James looked in the mirror he looked very different than usual. It drove him crazy however, to hear Neal and Mozzie's voices in his mind, snickering at his amateurishness. _The hell with them. He'd managed fine before meeting those two. _

His mind shied away from a thought that had nibbled around the edges before but was now occupying more of his thoughts. He was a hard man and now it was time for a hard decision. The longer James stayed here but the better the chances he would be apprehended. And he knew too well which way a jury would decide if it was between himself, a disgraced fallen cop, and Peter Burke, the hero of the FBI.

There had only been three men present that day on that floor in the Empire State Building. Pratt was dead, Burke behind bars and James hunted, on the run. Neal had the evidence box of course, but James was certain he could discredit that. His son was a known criminal and a master forger and if James were to let slip sometime that Neal and Burke had set up all of this in order to kill Pratt and let he, James, take the fall, it might just fly. **If **Burke were out of the way, that is. His son did not have a good reputation for telling the truth and that would discredit him. Neal could take his own chances then; James would neither hinder nor help. But, if being hunted for collusion on a crime with his buddy the FBI agent didn't send his son on his way out of this idiotic anklet bargain, then truly Neal was no son of his. He'd either have to run or go back to prison, this time for a nice, longer stay.

James fretted. The authorities had their prime suspect but there seemed to be a reluctance to use him. But what if Burke met a tragic end while in prison? Nobody could refute his testimony then; James' explanation of events would seem much more plausible. A dead scapegoat would solve everyone's problems. A dead killer meant case solved, everybody takes their bows for apprehending him and they all go home, heroes. James Bennett would be forgotten. He could eventually come in, pleading fear of retribution from Peter, while he was alive, and Neal, depending on whatever he ended up doing. James could then give the deceased Burke the same break the agent had offered him; Peter had fired in self-defense. _Might salvage something of his reputation._ James would do that for Mrs. Burke, at least. Try to save something of a pension, maybe. He wasn't totally heartless.

That small voice in the back of his mind, the voice he had learned to tune out for several years, mocked him. _Yeah, sure, break into a federal facility, knock off their prime suspect on the highest profile case they have – and then walk out again. Stupid. Nothing more than suicide. It would never work. Idiocy. _

But the other voice, the one he listened to that fateful day when he had started unknowingly down the path of ruin, said, _what are the alternatives? Stay here and get caught? Do nothing? Never. They will not believe you when you tell them the truth. You know that already._

He stared at the dark screen of the television without really seeing it. The constant drama of the twenty four hour news cycle had been nonstop. The media was in a frenzy to find out the FBI agent's identity; somebody must have some major juice to keep Burke's name under wraps. An endless parade of politicians strutted across the airwaves to express shock, sorrow, horror, outrage - and to point fingers of blame at somebody else for the assassination. One windbag of a senator looked like he might be unable to resist temptation and spill the beans – until a fascinated James watched a young woman with her dark hair in a ponytail, wearing an icy smile, sidle into the Senator's line of sight. The pompous fool stammered to a halt and abruptly ended the news conference. Whoever she was, James could not help but admire her brazen attitude. She had guts, all right.

And he was stalling again. Get with it. He vaguely felt out of his depth. Like he was reaching for shadows. His thoughts churned in circles. There should be another way. His mind wasn't thinking rationally.

_No. Forget that_. He was always thinking rationally. Other people might mock him, but James Bennett knew what he was doing, thank you very much.

_**You know what has to be done.**_ That ruthless voice in his head did not show mercy.

It was one thing to kill a guy in the heat of anger, even that idiotic supervisor from so long ago. Pratt had pissed him off for a long time and James fired before he had time to even think of the consequences. That was a festering old score to be settled and he took the opportunity when it presented itself. But, Burke, provided he could even get close enough, would be an execution. Plus there was the huge question of a successful escape afterwards. He wasn't fond of the odds. It was obvious though, that Burke had to go. Somebody of importance was listening to him; James would love to know the identity of the mystery woman on television and who she worked for. Peter Burke was a loose end that could hang him. It would all change after Burke died; everyone would say they knew it was him all along, take a bow and leave the stage. Even the conspiracy kooks (for some reason Mozzie leapt into his mind) would be looking for space aliens other than feeling sorry for a dead federal agent. Everybody would be happy to forget about James Bennett then.

Except one.

The grown man who insisted he was his son. In his gut, he knew Neal would come after him, despite all the pleasant thoughts of his son bailing out with him in this mess. James had enticed an inebriated Mozzie one night to talk about his son and Burke at the safe house. After Mozzie had left slip some drunken resentment concerning Peter's influence over Neal, the small man had clammed up, reluctant to let James in. To his astonishment, it appeared Mozzie too liked Burke, despite all the cynicism concerning the government and corporations and whatever else the guy deemed a threat at that moment. James had an uncomfortable feeling that Mozzie might continue to help Neal come after him after he dispatched Burke but, he could handle Mozzie easily if he had to. The guy had street connections and more guts than Neal but he wasn't a fighter.

But, as hard as it might be to kill Burke – and Mozzie, if the guy made too much trouble, James really didn't know if he could pull the figurative if not literal trigger on Neal. He instantly decided he wouldn't think about that. Surely Neal wouldn't be that stupid? Then again, Ellen had a lot to do with raising him and added to that, Burke's influence later in life….

One thing at a time. First he would backtrack that little weasel friend of Moz's. The trail should lead to Mozzie, then Neal and finally to Burke, for James knew his son would not stay away from the agent, no matter what.

James sighed as some headache inducing rap music throbbed next door. He looked in the cracked mirror, seeing a man no longer young with a wary, bitter expression laced with exhaustion. _Well, it wasn't his fault. People forced him into doing these things. If they would just stay out of his way and leave him alone, it wouldn't have to be this way. And why couldn't Neal get this through his thick head? Idiot; he left his son the yellow brick road to freedom and Neal was too stupid to see it. _

James reached for the bottle of cheap whiskey, something that would appall Neal. He flopped down on the rickety bed and took a swig. It would be dark in two hours; time to begin his new campaign to rid himself of his troubles. He really wasn't happy with his options. But he'd learned a few things from Neal and Mozzie there; maybe he could pull it off. But one thing he could not, **would not,** do was sit like a rat in a trap. Not this time. If he was unable to escape the city, they would get him, even with the less than competent leadership the Bureau had right now. It would help if he had some incriminating evidence to leave behind; he was a fool, he should have taken those papers or at least the ones that pertained to him. If only Neal would alibi him! He didn't want to kill again. He didn't really want to kill Burke. But there was no choice.

It was really Neal's fault. If he would just help James get out of the city, his friend would be spared. After all, jail wasn't the same as being dead for some people. For James, it was, but that was another matter entirely. Or his son could tell them Burke had a grudge against Pratt and wanted to take his revenge. James could then keep his other story to himself; no need to incriminate Neal. With his son supplying a motive, that might be enough.

But he knew deep down Neal wouldn't do it.

James hated the plan. The odds of success were so very small.


	5. Chapter 5

"He was here in this neighborhood," Mozzie said, pointing to the city map on the laptop screen. "By the time I got over there though, he had split."

Neal sat down in front of the laptop, an untouched glass of wine in front of him. "He's still close by then," he said softly. Dark circles made half-moons under his eyes and his entire posture spoke of exhaustion. He began to have a whole new understanding of what Peter went through chasing him. "Dear old Dad hasn't left yet."

Mozzie sat down carefully, mindful of his own wine glass, which was half full. "I doubt that he can get out, Neal. Between our contacts and the Suits running rampant, well, he is on an island, you know." He paused and took a swallow of wine. "We should coordinate more closely with the Suits, I think."

Neal gave him a sideways glance. "You sound like pod person Mozzie. What happened to the real Moz?"

Moz shrugged. "Desperate times, mon frère."

Neal rubbed his eyes and finally took a swallow of wine. "If I knew who to trust outside of Jones and Diana, I would have the Bureau here in an instant. But I absolutely refuse to give any help to Calloway. I'm not sure what she would do with it. Besides, Jones told me today Calloway is under tremendous pressure from above. The longer my father stays at large, the worse she looks. It would be great to take him in without any help from her at all."

Mozzie looked serious. "Neal, as pleasant as it is to contemplate The High Heel Queen marching out the door for a final time, I do feel compelled to point out that James is a dangerous man. He is tough and physical and seems to be pretty quick on the trigger at all times. It would be unfortunate, if not downright suicidal, to try and take him on our own. In our zest to clear the Suit's name, I would like to be around for the victory party."

Neal looked at him, a coldness about him that Mozzie had only seen a few times. "Moz, I have no intention of grandstanding on this; Peter's life hangs in the balance. I want my father to pay for his crimes. If we need the Bureau, we'll get the Bureau. But right now, only Jones and Diana. I'm not sure who else to trust, with Hughes out of the official picture."

"I'm surprised they have been able to keep Peter's name out of the media," Mozzie remarked. "Hughes must have a lot of pull."

Neal shrugged. "A lot of secret friends, I guess. Diana says she thinks it is because they are not sure Peter is, in fact, guilty. They don't want a future law suit, if that is even possible."

Mozzie perked up. "Oh, that could be big money! Suing the government; the sky is the limit!"

"Relax, Perry Mason. Hughes says it is also because Peter has been undercover so much. If they prove his innocence but burn his identity, no more undercover work and questions could be raised about his previous cases. So they have their own agendas in mind."

"Ingrates," Mozzie remarked absently.

Neal stood up and walked around the tiny room; not one of Moz's more spacious hideouts. "I wish I could see Peter," he mumbled, as he rolled his head, trying to alleviate the tension.

"Oh yeah, they would love that," Mozzie replied tartly. "They would be afraid you would bring a limo up to the gate and drive off with Peter in it. You were lucky to get your old radius back."

"But not to Brooklyn," Neal mused sadly. "I'd really like to see Elizabeth. Hughes is working on it."

Mozzie waved his hands in the air. "Oh sure. I'm certain they will be delighted with that idea. Maybe we could bring bon bons."

_**WC WC WC**_

The government cars still lined the street as Elizabeth walked up to her front door. The official force had taken most of the parking places. But, there did seem less of them today, she thought. She heard old Mrs. Hunt, who lived up the street, loudly berating some young guy in an official suit for knocking over her flower pot. It was obvious that the young agent (and El was sure about that) was dying of embarrassment for having his surveillance made so obvious. Elizabeth was bitterly amused; they could waste tax dollars on surveillance on her house but they couldn't go out there and find that rotten James Bennett.

She let herself in, feeling as weary as she looked. Satchmo jogged toward her, looking again for Peter. Tears burned her eyes as they always did during this daily ritual.

Then she became aware of a delicious aroma from the kitchen. Looking up, she saw Neal and Mozzie standing by with identical looks of concern.

Elizabeth was too tired to even be startled. "No wonder Satch isn't as restless today," she remarked, dropping her purse into the chair and coming forward.

Her expression must have been bleak as Moz sprang forward to help with her jacket and place a quick, consoling arm around her shoulders. He nodded at Neal. "Neal cooked."

"Do they," El waved a hand in the general direction of the street, "know you guys are in here?"

Moz was scandalized. "Mrs. Suit! You wound me. Neal is here officially with permission but I, in my ninja mode, came in through the back. I have swept the house for bugs and I have counter measures in place to prevent eavesdropping. In my guise as a lowly meter man of course," he nodded to the city worker jacket over the couch.

"A meter man armed with his own eavesdropping equipment," Neal cut in. "They can't hear us. And Hughes was able to pull some strings to allow me to come out to Brooklyn this evening. I have to be back before nine," he added in some annoyance.

"I have ascertained nervousness in the ranks regarding the excessive use of questionable legal tactics against you and the Suit," Moz informed her with a superior air. "There seems to be a certain pull back going on regarding the surveillance of the Suit estate. Five vehicles left today alone. Sally is monitoring the situation and she is far better at this kind of thing than the soulless government minions," he added with a glow of pride.

A fleeting smile crossed El's face looking at Mozzie, obviously still in the raptures of attraction regarding the mysterious computer hacker. _Peter will find this amusing,_ she thought. She then turned to Neal, who was leaning against the kitchen counter top. "No sign of James?"

Neal pushed away, arms folded across his chest. "We've had some leads," he said quietly. "But he's either just left or it was mistaken identity. We know he's still in town though. He won't get out," he added defiantly.

Elizabeth stood, studying Neal. In many ways, he was the mirror image of her husband that she had just left. Eyes dull with exhaustion, body stiff with tension and a weary restlessness that could not be contained. Always slender, Neal now looked almost anorexic . "Neal, are you all right?"

Startled, Neal raised his hands. "I'm fine." The automatic answer came out immediately. Moz had his inscrutable face on and made no comment. "More importantly," Neal continued before she could, "How is Peter?"

Both men turned their eyes on her with keen interest. El gave a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, he says he is fine too."

Neal said nothing, just continued staring and Moz fidgeted.

El brushed a trembling hand over her eyes. "He looks awful and I know he isn't sleeping. I'm pretty certain he isn't eating either but he won't admit it. They are still questioning him at least once a day," she spat out angrily.

For the first time, Neal smiled. "That won't bother Peter."

El shook her head ruefully. "You're right; it doesn't. He says it is his only entertainment for the day. Oh," she suddenly remembered, "he asked about you, Neal. Wanted to know how you were."

"I would have no problems," Neal said darkly "other than the fact it is my father who should be in there, not Peter!"

"Well, Peter gave me some messages for you, when I saw you. "First," El began reciting, "tell Neal that although James has a lot of experience running, he isn't you. He lacks your style and your brazenness. He doesn't think out of the box."

"Yes," Neal said thoughtfully.

"Sticking with the flea bag hotels then. No sense of style at all." Moz frowned. "James is being forced to stay close, in case something breaks so he can use it to his advantage," Mozzie added. Hope arose in all three of them.

A loud sigh broke the silence when Satchmo, lying down by the sofa, placed his head on one of Peter's slippers and looked forlorn. It would have comical if not so sad.

"There goes the moment," Neal sighed.

Mozzie went over to Satch, who immediately raised his head hopefully. "We will bring him home again, Suit Dog. Be patient." He started to pet the dog, who rolled over happily on his back.

El turned to Neal. "Peter also wants you to know he has faith in you, Neal."

Neal tried not to meet her eyes. "Peter said that? After what has happened?"

"Yes, he did. He told me you would be blaming yourself. I'm to tell you to cowboy up and get the job done." El smiled; a brief, but sincere, smile.

Neal gave vent to a rueful laugh. "Oh, that's Peter all right." Sobering, he asked, almost in dread, "What about you, Elizabeth? Do you have faith?"

El touched his arm; she knew how important the answer was to Neal. "I always have, Neal. It's true I didn't want Peter involved in this business with your father. And if I'd known this would happen, I'd probably do worse than ask you to lie to Peter, who saw right through the whole thing anyway." She took a breath. "I was scared, Neal. I still am. I will do what I have to in order to protect my husband. But I know how you really feel about Peter. Always have, since that first day you showed up here, early for work and out of your radius. Nothing has changed."

Neal was a little overwhelmed. From his viewpoint, he had brought nothing but disaster and danger to the Burke household yet, apparently, they both still believed in him. It was almost too much to take in, given his exhausted mental state. He summoned a small smile. "I think you are being way too kind. But I will never put Peter in this position again."

"Well, your father put Peter in this position, not you," El replied firmly.

"Can we eat now?" Mozzie asked plaintively. They laughed and went over to the table, where Neal served delicious lasagna.

_**WC WC WC**_

"That's what we have for now, Peter," Clinton Jones said, standing over the street map opened on the table in the visitors' room.

Peter studied the map, his face intent and focused. Jones almost smiled; he had seen this expression before. But never in these circumstances. "What about here?" Peter asked, drawing a circle with his finger.

"We checked but we got a tip that Bennett was up on 61st street. By the time we got there, nobody was there. And we never went back to this area."

Peter made a disgusted sound. "What kind of search pattern is this?"

"It is a Calloway search pattern," Jones replied tartly. "It is called run to the next hot tip before the higher ups realize days have passed and you still haven't captured James Bennett."

Peter leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck; he hated these stupid jumpsuits, whatever color they were. "Great." Switching gears abruptly, he asked, "What about Neal?"

"He will be out to see you tomorrow evening," Jones said with a touch of smug pride.

Peter nearly tipped over backward. "What?"

Jones shrugged. "He went over Calloway's head."

"How high?" Peter asked faintly.

"His art loving friend, Bancroft," Jones replied with a chuckle.

"At least it wasn't the Director himself," Peter muttered. He should be angry or at least annoyed. But after he got over being mortified, he found himself very …. happy. Neal was coming. And not running away or thinking up some outlandish scheme to break him out.

Jones leaned forward intently. "He really does need to see you, Peter. He's trying to hold it together and play by the rules but you can see the strain on him. Diana and I try to keep him on an even keel, but we aren't you. Besides, I think it will do both of you some good," he added, trying to keep a light touch. In reality, neither Neal nor Peter looked very good. They needed each other, he decided. However odd it seemed to anyone else.

Peter shook his head ruefully. "Well, good thing I don't have to go out tomorrow," he said morosely. He tried to match Jones' tone but it came out more sharper than he had intended.

"Despite Calloway, we'll get Bennett," Jones said confidently. "Now, what do you think about this?" He gestured to the map.

To his relief, Peter got involved in the search again and Jones breathed a short sigh of relief. _This had to end soon, _he thought.

_**WC WC WC**_

James hurriedly closed the door behind him, loud music pulsing through the shabby bar and shattering ear drums in a six block area. Even the men's room vibrated with those drums, he thought morosely. He moved over to the sink, after first checking the stalls, which were thankfully empty. While he splashed water on his face, he became aware of the fact someone else had entered and was standing in front of the door watching him. Reaching for a paper towel, James stood up and wiped his face, glancing at the intruder in the cracked mirror.

_**Neal. **_

"Well, well," James said with forced lightness. "Have you come to give me a hand out of here or to turn me in?"

Neal smiled but his eyes remained cold. "What do you think, **Dad**?

James threw the towel away. "I suppose your FBI buddies are on their way," he sighed.

Neal never stopped smiling. "You better believe it. Did you really think I'd let you go and leave Peter to take the fall?"

James held up his hand. "Please, no more testimonials to Burke. My stomach can't take his nobility. Nor your stupidity. This was your chance too, son. You could have walked away, found the right island this time, and never looked back."

"I see you've been talking to Moz," Neal observed, never leaving the door.

James shrugged. "Had a lot of time to sit around in the safe house. Your life has been pretty interesting the last few years. Made intriguing conversation. I don't think we are so different after all, really."

Neal froze. "Oh?"

James smiled; pleased he had struck a chord. "You're getting all self-righteous with me about Peter, but what about you? From what I hear – and read, I did a bit of research myself, you get him in serious trouble about once a year. And I gathered Mozzie got shot because of you, but he wouldn't give me any more details, even though I kept pouring the wine."

"I've made mistakes," Neal admitted in a flat voice.

James leaned in, although taking care to stay out of Neal's reach. "I don't think there is all that much difference between us in the end. Although my way is cleaner; I don't befriend them first, make them like me and then stick the knife in."

For a moment, Neal looked mortally wounded; then he steeled himself, with visible effort, and the mask dropped in place. Smiling that smile of false comradeship, he said, "Well, that's nice, **Dad**. Obviously, you are an upstanding hero to be admired. But I'm not fooling around here anymore. I'm taking you in. Think of it as one last chance to," Neal swallowed, "do the right thing."

James held up his hands in surrender, resignation on his face. "Okay, okay. You've got me. I can't get out of this stupid city, so I guess I'll play the hand that is dealt to me. You think Burke will still say it was self-defense?" He asked anxiously.

"Unlike us, Peter doesn't lie," Neal said bitterly. "If that is what he saw, that is what he'll say."

James moved toward Neal, who drew back in an after you motion. Just as he opened the door however, a drunken man with platinum hair crashed into the door and into Neal. James threw himself forward, slamming the door hard into the Neal and then closing it on the drunk he had shoved outside. Neal leaned against the wall, looking stunned. James however, saw red. _So the little smart mouth is going to turn me in. We'll see about that. _

His right fist lashed out, catching Neal on the side of the face. He struck again and again, seeing Ellen's face there and then Pratt; all the people who had screwed him over. James finished with a couple of mighty shots to the stomach. Then he opened the door and barreled into the drunken blond again, running over him. People were in his way but he pushed through. Mozzie was suddenly between him and the door. James made a gesture toward his back, reaching for the cheap handgun he had procured from a dubious street seller. Mozzie hurriedly backed off and James went through the crowd of dancers and drunks.

He had disappeared by the time Diana Berrigan and Clinton Jones arrived, ten minutes later. They found a bloodied and stunned Neal being supported by Mozzie at the back of the bar.


	6. Chapter 6

The guard escorting him stayed outside, as Peter entered the visitors' room and nearly stopped in shock when he saw bruised and battered Neal seated at the table. "What happened?"

Diana Berrigan stood next to Neal. "He ran into his father last night," she explained briefly. Moving over to Peter, she did a very unDiana like thing and gave him a hug. "God, it is good to see you, Boss."

Peter returned the hug but his eyes remained on Neal, with his black eye, split lip and leaning posture. "Neal?" He asked in that tone that always meant, what now?

"Good to see you too, Peter," Neal said with a trace of reproach in his voice. "What, no jumpsuit?"

Settling down into the chair opposite Neal, Peter tried to match his tone but his expression was a mix of worry and anger. "No, I am allowed to wear regular clothes, for now," he said, addressing Diana as well, who stood near his shoulder. "I think the Bureau or somebody is getting cold feet about my arrest. The JD might try to pass this off as protective custody now, which is still pretty ridiculous. Anderson has been pushing hard and they have given a little bit on some things. I also have a cell phone; with limited minutes and monitored calls of course. Still," he paused to run a hand over his brown tee shirt, "jeans and a tee shirt never felt so good."

"Foiled again," Neal muttered but his heart wasn't in it. Somehow jibes about Peter in prison just didn't have a humorous ring to them.

Diana's phone rang and she answered, nodding. "I have to step outside to take this call, Boss. Agent Calloway insists on it. Official FBI business," she added ironically.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to get involved in that," Peter said gruffly. Diana was let out of the room by the guard and Peter turned his full attention on his former CI. "So, tell me."

Neal looked miserable. He wanted to see Peter so badly, they had so much to talk about and yet it was so hard. "Moz and I ran into my father last night in a bar. I suggested he turn himself in and he resisted." He was going to shrug but a sliver of pain stopped that idea at birth. Everything was sore.

"Clearly," Peter replied sarcastically. "How come you and Moz were out there by yourselves? Neal, your father is a dangerous man! You can't con him into doing what you want."

"You think he has anger management problems?" Neal suggested, in a feeble tone of joking.

"Yeah, I think so. Just as a first guess. Did Mozzie get hurt?"

"No, discretion turned out to be the better part of valor; Dad is armed now," Neal replied.

"Swell," Peter muttered. "But answer me; why aren't you working with the Bureau?" Peter was upset and in no mood for their usual games.

"I'm not working with Calloway," Neal insisted stubbornly. "Besides, Hughes doesn't trust her. And neither do you."

"No, I don't. But the Bureau has resources though that you don't. And I do want to get out of here someday, the sooner the better," Peter said with heartfelt sincerity.

Neal caught his tone. "Peter, we are going to clear you. Whatever happens, you are not staying in prison for a crime my father committed," he said with complete conviction.

This time Peter caught the message in Neal's voice. "It is not going to come to that. Obviously James hasn't gotten out of the city. That means it's only a matter of time. The change in my status," he gestured to the shirt, "tells me there has been enough uncovered now to cast serious doubt on the theory I shot Pratt. Anderson is sounding more hopeful every day. But I don't want to come out here and see you looking like this again. You and Moz do not function in a vacuum; take backup with you and do the job right."

Neal smiled. "Yes, boss," he said in a meek imitation of Diana.

"Oh, if only it were that easy," Peter scoffed. Turning serious, he asked, "How badly did he hurt you?"

"Just my face and he bruised my ribs." Neal's painful lip tried to smile. "Dad really does pack a punch."

Diana returned to the room. "Calloway has called us back in; it seems we have another tip on James Bennett," she announced with the air of someone being asked to waste their time.

"I suppose he's hanging out with Elvis now," Peter grumbled. He looked disgusted.

Diana and Neal both smiled, or Neal attempted to. "Heaven help me, I've missed that sarcasm," he said with pained regret.

"What's your phone number, boss?" Diana asked, holding her phone in her hands, ready to type.

Peter looked uncomfortable. "Look, the only reason I have this is because Harvey dropped the ball on my interrogation – that guy is a complete idiot, by the way. I'm not supposed to call anybody but El or my lawyer. And then only at certain times of the day."

Diana waved that away. "You won't be calling; I will. Otherwise we're not ever going to catch up with Bennett."

Neal feigned astonishment. "You don't want to know how the search is going?"

Peter hurriedly pulled the phone out. "The number is-"

They all laughed after that. They had only begun to talk and then they had to leave, thanks to Calloway. It was no mystery why she called; all she had to do was pull up Neal's tracker information. On impulse, Neal turned and gave Peter a hug before leaving, freaking out the guard until Diana told him brusquely to cool it. Peter returned the gesture and reluctantly Neal joined Diana outside in the hall.

It was hard, **so very hard**, for Neal to leave Peter there in that plain institutional place but Peter was cool about it (or at least put up the good front) and Diana was businesslike. Only out in the car did her calm exterior crack, her knuckles white in a death grip on the wheel. "We **will **get him back. I don't care what it costs."

Neal slouched painfully in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. "I don't care either," he muttered. And he really didn't. In his mind he kept seeing Peter being escorted away by the guard. **It so wasn't right.**

_**WC WC WC**_

Peter ate his meal, or at least attempted to, in the splendid isolation he would never become accustomed to. He'd promised El he would try and eat more but the food tasted off tonight and after a few bites, he'd shoved the tray away. Maybe he'd swallow his pride tomorrow and ask Anderson if there was any way he could get some of El's cooking here. Or, maybe he should just ask Neal. If anyone could arrange it, it would be Neal. He'd probably have a five star chef here by tomorrow night, with the FBI picking up the tab.

Peter tried reading a book from the library but it didn't hold his interest and he threw it down impatiently on the hard bunk. _God, he wanted out of here. _His team was participating in a huge manhunt for Neal's father and he sat here, useless. Elizabeth was coping with everything on her own. Neal had his ever loving father to deal with. Diana and Jones were probably being watched carefully by OPR, their careers under a shadow. Peter paced his small cell. People counted on him and now he was out of the game, sitting on the bench. Hell, he wasn't even on the field anymore. _What a mess he had created. _His parents had visited earlier today and he nearly broke down when his mother did. His father however, had gruffly advised him to hang tough; he would prevail in the end. Peter took comfort in the words, but wondered privately how he could prevail when he was stuck in here. If only he could do **something**….

With the relaxed restrictions, one would think it would be easier but instead, it just underlined how close and yet how far away everybody and everything was. He could now call his wife during certain times of the day but that wasn't the same as holding her at night. Peter didn't want anyone to see it, especially not El and Neal, but this being locked up was really beginning to get to him. The shock had worn off now and instead there was raging boredom during the day and sleepless nights during the dark hours. Then there was the strain of being on guard at all times; a lot of inmates in here were not fans of federal agents or law enforcement in general. The little things he had taken for granted now seemed so precious. _What he would give just to take Satch for a walk right now…._ The best part of his day, outside of El's daily visits of course, courtesy of Anderson, was the one hour he was out in the yard by himself, shooting baskets. His basketball career was a thing of his past except for intramural FBI games but now it brought him comfort. He ran himself ragged chasing down the ball and rejoiced in pushing himself to the limit. It was something to do, at least.

He wished he had more time with Neal. Jones was right; this really was taking a toll on the younger man. But he could hardly expect Neal to sit here chatting with the search for his father going on at full tilt. Frankly, Peter was still amazed that Neal had managed to get inside to visit at all. He didn't need to be in the briefings to know the Burke-Caffrey team, or Caffrey-Burke as some upstarts thought, was toxic in certain circles right now. But Neal had pulled it off. And then Calloway had cut it short. Peter could just hear her voice in his head, 'It isn't personal, Peter. I'm just doing my job.' _Yeah, right. You're trying to do my job and Hughes' job; and doing it very badly at that. _

As Peter continued to prowl around his small cell, he gradually became aware of that fact that tonight's food was not going down well. In fact, he really felt lousy. At first he had put it down to stress and the food in here was bland at best, atrocious at worst. But the burning in his stomach intensified to the point he could no longer ignore it. Just when he decided to try and get some help, pain jackknifed through him with breathtaking intensity._ What happened? Did somebody get to him after all? One of Pratt's people? Another inmate? _One thing for certain; it wasn't going away. The pain kept getting worse by the moment, a molten tide of agony that was overtaking him with effortless ease.

Peter just barely had time to get a guard's attention before he collapsed.

_**WC WC WC**_

"I don't know how we could have missed him," an NYPD detective was telling Clinton Jones. "The guy was here at two p.m.; a patrolman saw him coming out of a used book store. There is no way he could have gotten out without us seeing him."

Jones nodded but his expression was resigned. The man was well intentioned but James Bennett knew all the tricks of law enforcement well. The bitter truth was they had missed James again. But at least the margin of error was getting slimmer.

Neal wandered the dingy room with Diana, looking at the sparse clues in another dump of a hotel in a bad neighborhood.

"He's been gone for longer than that guy thinks," Neal remarked bitterly to Diana, who nodded.

"I know. Keep searching, Caffrey. Maybe we'll get lucky one day," she added, but her voice betrayed her frustration. Diana looked angry.

"Well, he's blond now," Neal said, wearing plastic gloves and poking through the bathroom trash at the used box of hair color. "Sloppy of him though, not to get rid of it first."

Jones joined them. "We were close. Again."

As he and Diana conferred, Neal wandered out in the hallway where a crowd of curious, scruffy people watched with defiant glares. One guy however, dressed in a suit that was obviously very old and too big for him, was thumbing through a paperback book, near the back of the crowd. Ignoring the hostility, Neal shouldered his way over. "Find something?" He asked in his most soothing, casual tone.

The man, whose head barely reached Neal's shoulder, reacted protectively. "I found it. You can't have it."

Neal held up his hands. "Hey, no problem. Just wanted to know what you were reading, that's all. No big deal. I like to read myself. Where did you happen to get it?"

"Found it. Somebody stuffed it in the trash by the elevators. They don't work, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Had to walk up." Neal schooled himself to exude patience and casualness. After all, he had plenty of practice in this. "Is it a good book?" He became aware of Jones and Diana standing in the front edge of the crowd but hoped they would stay back.

"Information you should know," the little man informed him haughtily. "A book of herbs," he announced importantly, mispronouncing herbs. Timidly, he did show Neal the book.

Neal carefully, slowly took it from the man and flipped through the index. His blood froze when he saw a chapter labeled, Poisonous Herbs. _He wouldn't. Or would he? _"Diana, call Peter," he said abruptly.

Diana immediately pulled out her phone. A moment later, she was frowning. "Ringing. But no voice mail."

"They probably wouldn't let Peter have that," Jones said. "Glancing at his watch, he remarked, "Peter may be at dinner or just going. He told me the other day they eat insanely early there. This may be considered after hours and the phone is turned off."

Neal shoved the book back at the man, ignoring his outraged squeak of protest. Panic fueled his urgency and he had no more time for niceties. "We have to get to Peter. Now!"

"Caffrey!" Jones protested. "What's going on?"

Diana simply shrugged and hit redial continuously. After a bit, she called the office and got the Warden's phone number.

Neal ran out of the building, with a mystified Jones and Diana in tow behind him, his heart pounding with fear. "If I'm wrong, I'll apologize later!" He yelled over his shoulder to the two agents. "But I think my Dad has gone after Peter!"


	7. Chapter 7

Peter lay on his side in the prison infirmary, his gut on fire and his body convulsing with agony. He didn't remember the guards nearly carrying him down to this room and he was barely aware of the resulting chaos around him. The prison doctor was on call but had not yet responded to urgent texts. The Warden had gone home for the evening. The orderly who was normally here was out sick himself with the flu. After a brief debate between the milling guards; the call was made for an ambulance. But, at this rate, he wasn't going to be here to care one way or the other.

Somebody went to see about contacting the correct people and somebody else went to check on the ambulance. Peter lay, panting, trying to stifle the moaning and groaning he was doing. Sweat soaked him and he wanted to drink water by the gallon just to put out the raging fire in his stomach.

There were two guards with him and they talked briefly as to what to do next. Then, as the one went to the door, the second guard hit him over the head with his gun. Peter watched, in horror stricken agony, as the first guard collapsed in a heap.

Then the second guard loomed into view. "You know, Mozzie and Neal are right. You just put on a uniform, act like you belong here and everybody lets you go on about your business. It does work."

Peter glanced up, although the mere act of doing so caused more agony, and saw a blond James Bennett looking down at him, with a strange look of sympathy on his face. "Sorry, Burke," he said, "I really, really didn't want this to happen."

Peter rolled off the bed, away from James, but his legs were unsteady and his stomach still an out of control fire. He curled an arm around his midsection. "I didn't either, Bennett. I don't recall any of this being part of the plan to clear your name."

James shook his head sadly. "I know. I didn't want it this way. But I have to protect myself, you know. I didn't last time; look where it got me."

"Nothing you didn't deserve," Peter ground out. James moved closer; Peter moved back. But his vision was beginning to go to gray and everything hurt so badly…

James seemed content to keep him cornered between the beds. "You know, I think Neal is a lot like me."

"Yeah," Peter grunted.

James was impressed. "You agree?"

"I agree that you would think that way," Peter replied in a hoarse voice.

James made a sudden move toward him and Peter put all of his remaining strength into a right fist to the face. It staggered Bennett, bloodying his nose but unfortunately, it didn't knock him out. "That was stupid, Peter. You're going fast now. You can't win."

"Swing for the fences," Peter mumbled, clutching the edge of the nearest bed for support. He felt dizzy and oh so sick.

"That's right; Neal said you were a baseball guy. But you know what; for every home run, there are always five strikeouts. And you've struck out, my friend."

Peter tried to reply but a spasm of agony coursed through him and his legs buckled. Bennett caught him under the arms and slung him on top of the nearest bed. Peter did summon up enough will power to glare before collapsing into uncontrollable groaning. Bennett sat down on another bed, looking sad and defeated. "If it's any consolation, I'm probably going down for this. I tried to leave twice and got stopped both times. Now the whole place is in lockdown. So I guess you win after all."

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This… is winning?" Sweat ran into his eyes.

James shrugged. "At least you'll be a dead hero. I'll be stuck inside here for the rest of my life."

"Not… sorry… for you," Peter gasped.

"Well, I still have one option," James said, drawing a second gun from the back waistband of his pants. "I think I'd rather shoot my way out, really." He stood up, looking down at Peter, who thrashed around again. Lifting the gun into Peter's line of sight, he said, "I could make this easier for you. One and done."

"Strange … idea… of mercy," Peter ground out. He could hardly see James now.

"I didn't want this," James insisted. "This is all your fault. You should have just told them it was an unknown assailant. Or, between us, we could have thought up something that would have thrown them off my track. Pratt is no loss to the world; why should we pay for his death? But no. You were going to do the self-defense speech. And in my case, that wouldn't fly."

Peter didn't have the strength to answer any more. The world was swirling around in angry shades of red and black now. He could barely hear James speak.

"You know the worst part?" James asked, not paying any attention to the fact he was losing his audience. "The worst part is that you turned my son away from me. He was suspicious of me from the start. Then I finally got some of his trust, only to find out I didn't measure up to the almighty Agent Burke. **Peter **does everything right. **Peter **has a beautiful wife and coworkers who stand by him even at the cost of their own careers. Hell, even Mozzie has been on your side through this. But nobody stood by my side when I needed someone. My partner arrested me and then took my wife and son away from me. It sucks," he finished angrily. Leaning over Peter, he was further annoyed to see the man was unconscious. "Great. I can't even get anybody to listen to me now, let alone then."

"I might have listened, if you had told the truth."

James spun around. Neal stood at the door, unarmed, eyes glittering with anger. They immediately went wide when he spied Peter on the bed behind James, unmoving. His mouth opened in horror. "Oh, no! No, no, **NO**!"

Ignoring James and his gun, Neal shoved his father to the side and went to Peter, hand going to his throat, checking for a pulse. He lifted Peter's eyelids but was not reassured. "He's still alive but barely. What did you give him?" Neal suddenly sprang up and clutched James by the shoulders. "**Tell me**!" He shouted.

James stepped back, shoving Neal back but not very far as his son looked wild and surprisingly stood his ground. "There's an antidote but he has to have it within the next," he made a show of consulting his watch, "thirty minutes. Or else one less hero in the world. "

Wild eyed, Neal looked around. "Where is it?"

"Not so fast," James held up his hand. "You get me out of here first, then you can call them back with the name."

"You don't have it on you," Neal asked dully, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I'm not stupid, boy!" James snapped. "I gave your friend Burke there a song and dance about this being my final stand, but I don't leave the game until I've played every card in my hand. So, let's go."

Neal, with a final anguished glance at Peter, moved to the door. As James reached for the door however, Neal suddenly elbowed him hard in the stomach and shoved him back into the room, where he fell to the floor after first hitting the side of a nearby bed.

Neal was on him like a cat, punching and clawing, kicking where he could. James tried to fend off the unconventional attack but his son was enraged and out of control. Neal lunged for the gun and they wrestled for possession between them when it suddenly went off.

For a moment, father and son looked at each other in shock, then Neal slowly crumpled to the floor.

James spared one him brief look of regret. "God, I am sorry, kid. I really wished we could have had that life together." Then he ran to the door, threw it open and looked into the drawn guns of the newly arrived Clinton Jones and Diana Berrigan, with a mixture of prison guards and FBI agents behind them. "James Bennett, you are under arrest. Throw down your weapon now!" Jones ordered.

Looking at the guns pointed at him, the resistance leaked out of James like a tire with a puncture. He threw his gun down hard on the floor, hoping it would go off, but naturally it didn't. _Bad luck until the end,_ he thought morosely.

Diana shoved her way past as Jones put on the cuffs, other people swarming into the room behind her. She checked Neal and then hurried over to Peter, her face anguished and worried. "Get those EMTs in here now!"

The race was on to save two lives.

_**WC WC WC**_

Elizabeth Burke sat by her husband's bedside, anxiously watching. Peter had been stirring for a few minutes now but had yet to open his eyes. The hospital had dimmed the lights for the night and only a few voices sounded ghostly out in the quiet, darkened hallway.

The light over her husband's bed was still on. She kept encouraging him. "Come on, Peter. You need to wake up." Leaning close by his ear, she whispered, "I need you now."

After a few moments, Peter's eyes opened and Elizabeth felt it was fortunate she was sitting down because she felt swamped with relief. "Thank God!"

Her husband's eyes were dull however and it was clear he was having trouble figuring out where he was. Peter opened his mouth but no sound came out. She immediately reached for the cup of ice chips and fed him a couple.

"Hi, beautiful," he croaked.

"Hi yourself, gorgeous," she smiled back.

As ever, Peter looked ready to protest that nickname but Elizabeth shushed him with a kiss. When they both came up for air, El was distressed to see a desolate look in his eyes. "What happened?" He whispered urgently. He tried to look around, "Where?"

Elizabeth placed her hand over his; she knew from experience he would not rest until he knew everything. Even if it was too much for him to process right now, it was better to repeat it later then skip over something. The agent in him would be sure to notice the lapses, whatever his condition. "Relax, Peter. Everybody is safe now. You are in the hospital, a proper hospital, I might add, and when you get better, you are coming home with me. Your team rushed out to the prison when Neal found out what James was up to. He found you first in the infirmary, with his father." Despite good intentions, she left out the part where Neal had refused to wait for Jones and Diana, who were waylaid by some prison authorities; some things Peter might be better off not knowing. Or at least she felt confident about getting away with this omission at the moment. "James said Neal struggled with him for control of a gun and it went off; Neal was shot. His wound is serious but I just talked to June and the doctors are confident he will make a full recovery, barring complications. Neal is down the hall." She held his hand tightly. "Hon, you have been cleared of all charges."

Peter frowned; it was obvious thinking was a difficult process right now. "James?"

"He is in custody, finally," Elizabeth did not bother to hide her annoyance with that fact. "They got him, Peter. Actually, Neal, Jones and Diana did. **Your** team," she added with pride.

"Neal will be okay?" he mumbled in a slurred voice.

"He will recover," Elizabeth said firmly. She leaned closer and kissed his forehead as Peter fought a losing battle to stay awake and slid back into sleep. "Just rest, sweetheart. I will be here. No one will make me leave now," she added firmly.

_**WC WC WC**_

"Neal, can you hear me? Wake up, dear. It is time to come back."

The voice was insistent and Neal tried to ignore it but he felt like he could not afford to, there was something going on that he needed to take care of. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. _Hospital ceiling. Great. No wait; infirmary ceiling?_ Memory rushed back, along with panic. Suddenly he tried to sit up; urgency the overriding emotion. His voice failed him and he could only manage a pathetically weak, "Peter!"

There were gentle hands on his shoulders and they pushed him back to the pillow, not that he had made much progress in sitting up anyway. June Ellington leaned into view, the very sight of her comforting. "Peter is all right, Neal. Elizabeth told me he woke up over an hour ago." She shook her head, with a fond smile. "You can relax; you are both safe." She carefully gave him some ice chips, a welcome relief in his parched throat. "I need to call Mozzie; he has been frantic about both of you."

Neal flinched; suddenly remembered the gun in his father's hands. "Dad… shot me."

June looked upset. "He is telling everyone that the gun went off by accident. But his intentions were hardly noble, with Peter lying there at death's door."

Neal was so tired, so weak. He felt a strange disconnect from his body and the machines attached to him. He knew he was wounded; bandages on his side confirmed that but he felt no pain. "Had to protect…. Peter." He looked upset at the thought of his partner, his eyes anguished. "You're sure?"

June held his hand and touched his shoulder. "Neal. Peter was awake but went back to sleep again." She held up a hand when Neal started to protest. "He will be all right, Neal. He was poisoned. The doctor told Elizabeth if Peter had eaten the entire meal he might have died. But, thank God, he didn't and they have given him something to counteract the poison. But he hasn't had a chance to tell what happened yet between him and James, if anything."

Neal was fixated on the far wall, reliving the sight of his father standing over an unconscious Peter Burke with a gun, and then suddenly he was fighting with his father for control of the gun, and it went off. He was mildly curious why he didn't feel more pain or at least fear in the retelling but it was too much effort to think about now. He recited what he could remember in a flat, emotionless voice to June and then asked the question that haunted him the most. "My father? Got away again?"

June smiled at his confusion. "Oh no, dear. Diana and Jones got him just as he was going to leave. He lives; but he is in jail. The most important thing though is this: Agent Jones called Elizabeth earlier. Your father has confessed. It is like he suddenly gave up; admitting to everything. Peter will be free when he leaves this hospital."

"Thank God. My father didn't ruin **his** life," Neal said sleepily, his throat dry. The mere act of talking had exhausted him but the disquieting feeling of urgency, of something he had forgotten to do, was laid to rest.

June laid a hand on his cheek. "Get some sleep, Neal. All is well."

_**WC WC WC**_

Hospitals, Neal Caffrey decided, were centers of dull colors and dreary décor. He had already studied the ceiling, the far wall and channel flipped endlessly (something he hated) on the TV, finding nothing to watch. He knew Peter had been discharged yesterday; he had hoped his partner would stop by before going home but Neal missed him due to a nurse and her powerful pain medicine. To his chagrin, he had been asleep when Peter and Elizabeth were there. June told him about it later. Maybe he would be back today. Or maybe not. God knew Peter had been away from his wife and his house for so long, it seemed.

He drifted off to sleep despite his best efforts to stay awake. Then, he felt rather than heard someone from a great distance it seemed, so he opened his bleary eyes.

A casually dressed Peter Burke sat down heavily in the chair next to the bed. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Neal replied. He was pleased but why was he so drowsy? He didn't want Peter to think his visit was unwelcome. He made a tremendous effort to wake up and be more alert.

"Good to see you," Peter said formally. He glanced around the hospital room. "Lots of flowers," he observed. "All your girlfriends?"

Neal shrugged. "June and Sara. I appreciate their beauty." He waited for Peter to make the obvious comeback but his partner said nothing. An uncomfortable silence ensued.

Peter suddenly dropped the pretense, rubbing a hand over his neck, trying to loosen tension tightened muscles. "The doctors say you were very lucky, Neal. An inch over that bullet might have killed you or at least damaged a major organ."

"I think we are both lucky," Neal said softly. "Thank God you don't like prison food."

Peter smiled but his heart wasn't in it. "Yeah. I'm never going to look at beef stew the same way." He leaned forward. "So, when do you get out of here?"

"Maybe next week," Neal replied, a little depressed at the thought of it taking so long. He dismissed it immediately though. "So, how is it, being back home?"

Peter's eyes were suddenly shiny. "It is something I will never take for granted again."

An awkward pause ensued. Neal swallowed. "Peter, I really am so sorry about my father. Well, and pretty much everything else too. I've destroyed your career, haven't I? Again."

Peter shrugged. "Well, I doubt I'll ever make Director at this rate." When Neal failed to respond, he added, "Look, I've made my share of mistakes here too. Somewhere along the line it became too easy to cut corners and keep up the conviction rate by any means possible. I can't blame that on you; I did that myself."

"But I pushed you into this," Neal insisted. "This whole thing with my father, I just wanted it so bad, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Peter confirmed quietly. "But Neal, you are not in charge here; I am. I can't duck this any more than you can use that trope about your father and your bad blood. We made decisions, some pretty bad ones in hindsight and it didn't work out. But nobody got killed, well, other than Pratt that is, and your father will have to face the music on his own actions."

"Will you say it was self - defense?" Neal asked softly.

"That's what I saw," Peter replied.

Neal smiled. "I knew you would. You are the one constant in the world, Peter."

Peter snorted. "Oh, sure." He paused. "Are you all right? About your father, I mean?"

Neal nodded. "I guess so. I mean, he never really was the father I thought he was, anyway, right?"

Looking thoughtful, Peter replied, "Maybe he was briefly, a long time ago. But not now."

Neal disliked having his father come up in the conversation, taking up his precious time with Peter. He changed the subject. "Well, when we both get back to work, we'll fix your record," Neal said confidently. "We'll solve every case. Jones was here last night; he tells me Calloway has been reassigned. To Kansas City, much to no one's disappointment."

This time Peter did smile, although it was tinged with… melancholy? Remorse? Resignation? "Diana says she's been reassigned to bank fraud and she isn't even in charge of that." He leaned back in the chair, looking like his mind was somewhere else.

Neal grunted. "Better than she deserves. I am not feeling sorry for her, and you shouldn't either." He brightened when he thought of the future he once believed gone for forever. "We'll have an open path to glory. Caffrey and Burke, together again."

The joke did not have the desired effect on Peter. Instead, he looked very uncomfortable, looking down at the floor.

Dread seized Neal. Was Peter finally tired of him? Had Elizabeth finally had enough? Would Peter leave him… just like his father did? His brain rejected that cockeyed logic but his heart latched on the moment; the times when his father had left, once so long ago and once so very recently. He was proud of himself however, when his voice remained steady. "What is it?"

Peter ran a hand through his hair, not quite meeting Neal's eyes. "I'm not coming back to the Bureau. Not right away. I'm being put on leave for sixty days. Probably so they can figure out what to do with me." He leaned forward, obviously distressed. "The thing of it is, I don't really care right now. I put El through hell these past few months and I need to make it up to her. This time the Bureau cannot come first."

Neal froze. "But, what about -"

"Your deal is still in place, for now. You'll probably be out of the field for a while though, after you get back. The new guy, Peterson, is a rulebook man, which is probably what White Collar needs about now."

Neal was stung and his tone sharp. "Oddly enough, I wasn't asking about me. What about you?"

Instead of snapping back, Peter just looked weary. For the first time, Neal really noticed the fatigue in his manner, the uncharacteristic jumpiness and the barely contained restlessness. Peter looked hollow eyed and worn. Then, it hit him, what had been 'off' since Peter had come in. **Peter** now wore the mask; **Peter** was keeping secrets, trying to keep up appearances. Neal wasn't pleased and he didn't like it. Those were his roles. But he listened in silence when Peter reluctantly continued. "Neal, I don't have anything left right now. I'm not even going to pretend this didn't hit me hard. But it isn't about you, not this time. It is about me. I've never been a complete rules guy and I probably won't change. But I am tired of being the Bureau's whipping boy when something goes wrong. Every time I turn around I'm being suspended for something. And I can't even fault them for that; I've usually placed myself in that situation. I fight the criminals and then the system as well. I'm … tired. That's all." He held up his hands and then let them fall into his lap in an uncharacteristic gesture of defeat.

Neal sat silent. A thousand words went through his mind; smooth words, designed to make the mark feel comfortable and then begin to point him in the direction Neal wanted him to go. Instead however, he asked softly, "Do you have any plans yet?"

Peter smiled, a bit nervously. "Well, since June insisted on paying half of Arthur Anderson's fees, at a greatly reduced rate I might add with some relief, El and I are going to Hawaii for three weeks. Although what I'm going to do sitting on a beach for that long, I don't know," he added with a rueful look. It was a valiant attempt at normal.

Neal felt bereft but knew he had to keep up appearances. "That's good. Elizabeth will enjoy that and having you to herself for a change." A thought struck him. "What about Satchmo?"

"Elizabeth's sister is taking him. She has kids and Satch will get some much needed exercise."

"Oh." Neal said in a small voice.

"Neal," Peter said in his warning voice, "what are you thinking?" He looked upset but distracted as well.

The impulse was to say, oh nothing, have a great time but this time, this **one time**, Neal spoke his heart. "I am going to miss you. And Elizabeth. And Satchmo."

Peter touched his arm, carefully, minding the IV. "I will be back, Neal. All of us will. Just … give me some time. And behave yourself. Don't beat yourself up about your father."

Neal nodded. "I won't. And I will behave. I promise." And he decided he would keep his word on this, no matter what.

Afterwards, Elizabeth came in, having visited an ailing client and, Neal suspected, to give them some time alone. With only one chair available, she sat perched on Peter's leg, sliding her arm across his shoulders. They all talked about Hawaii for a bit, Neal telling them about an isolated beach that he and Kate had enjoyed so much on Kauai. Peter didn't say all that much; Neal and Elizabeth did most of the talking. Once, Neal met her eyes and saw the same worried concern reflected there as he felt. Peter fidgeted and tried to look interested. But it was obvious that he wanted to leave and Neal understood that. His partner had been cooped up in jail wrongly accused, and then in a hospital for two days after that. Neal totally knew where Peter was coming from. He felt it himself and he still had more time to go in the hospital. Trading a look of unease with Elizabeth, Neal told them goodbye and to relax. Peter only nodded and shot out the door.

Elizabeth lingered. "He has carried all of us for so long; it is really a shock to see him like this, isn't it?"

Neal nodded; a bit nettled he had not noticed this from the first. "I had no idea it had hit him this hard. Is he still sick?"

"He doesn't have much interest in food yet," El admitted. "His first night home and he didn't sleep at all last night. In fact, Mozzie came over some time after I finally fell asleep and they went through the house sweeping for bugs."

Frowning, Neal remarked, "That isn't like Peter. I figured once he came back to you, all would be well."

"It will be again," Elizabeth said firmly. "Please, just have faith in him, Neal."

"Peter has always been the one I trust," Neal said simply. "I will be here when you return."

"Good. Peter will be very pleased to hear that." Elizabeth smiled. "You rest too, Neal. Take care of yourself. The worst is over now."

After Elizabeth left, Neal lay in his hospital bed, telling himself history would not repeat.

Peter was **not** his father. In so many ways. **He would return**.

_**Thank you all for so many wonderful reviews, both member and guests. **_

_**One last chapter to go.**_


	8. Chapter 8

Barry Harvey sat alone in his high priced condo (financed by his father), fashionably decorated with a totally unloved feeling about the place. He was angry and frustrated. He had tried to do his job with a dirty agent; well, he **looked **to be dirty at the time and now he, Harvey, was placed on administrative leave, pending review. It was unfair, completely unfair, he reassured himself for the tenth time. He was doing his job. Maybe he was looking to attract some of the right attention for a career move as well but there was no harm in that. Lots of people went up the ladder that way. Barry knew he wouldn't win any popularity contests with the agents, but somebody had to be the enforcer. And now, this was his thanks.

The phone rang; he frowned. This had better be good. "William, I said I didn't want any interruptions. What? No, I didn't order anything. Send him away. What do you mean, he won't go?"

Minutes later, going downstairs in the elevator, he came out to bizarre scene. William the doorman stood outside with some delivery driver, a small man with glasses. Pushing through the doors, Barry brushed by one of his socialite neighbors, a fashionably slender woman, heavily botoxed, who hissed at him, "For God's sake, Barry, this is Manhattan but be discreet!"

Confused, he stood in mortified astonishment. The boxes, four large ones, were all flamboyantly labeled in vivid colors, ACME ADULT ENTERTAINMENT COMPANY. OUR MOTTO: PORN WILL BE YOUR FRIEND WHEN NO ONE ELSE IS.

"Where do you want this stuff, buddy?" The delivery driver smacked his gun irritatingly loud. "I don't have all day here," he announced even louder than his gum.

Barry was torn between scathing anger and raging embarrassment as it was after five pm and all of his fashionably wealthy neighbors were returning home, looking at the assorted boxes with varying expressions of astonishment, condescension and pity for the poor classless idiot parlaying his habit in the open. Passerby walked along, snickering. William, that jerk, must still be pouting about getting stiffed on a tip after lugging his latest fashionable vase up to his condo in that large crate last week. He, too, stood by smiling and doing nothing about getting rid of this loutish driver.

On top of everything else, Harvey looked up to find a cell phone aimed at him. Diana Berrigan, the most obstructive and hostile agent he had interviewed in Burke's whole division of obstructive and hostile people, stood by laughing. "Now I have something new to put up on the office bulletin board," she purred sweetly, holding up the phone. She walked off with a saucy smile.

Harvey protested to any and all who would listen, "I didn't order this stuff!"

The delivery driver, who had professed to be in a hurry, stood by with a small envelope. "Maybe your girl did. It says, Love, Amanda. I like to read these things; it is so sweet," he added with a nauseating cheer.

Harvey's head exploded.

Later, Diana stood waiting a few blocks away when the delivery van pulled to a stop beside her. "Hop in, Sheena of the Suit Jungle," Mozzie invited.

Diana did, laughing. "You did good, half pint. Is he still standing out there?"

Mozzie smiled. "Oh yes. The doorman doesn't like him either; he did his part for free. Neal did the labels. And I picked out a nice assortment for Mr. Harvey from the ACME Company. I'm sure he will love it."

They both laughed as Manhattan traffic crawled along.

_**WC WC WC**_

Neal went home the first week Peter was in Hawaii. There were no phone calls but Neal told himself it was all right. It was time to stop being so dependent. What had happened to him? Was this his long absent father's legacy? Clutch whoever/whatever he needed close, no matter what the cost, to himself or them? If he didn't, they wouldn't have a chance to leave, right? He shook his head; _cool it, Doctor Phil. _ Too much analysis. He needed to, oh, wait for it**; cowboy up **andmanage on his own. His father was under maximum security, bail denied (Good, he thought.) but Neal felt no need to go and visit. Jones had informed him that James was under a psychiatrist's supervision and, hearing that, Neal felt panic. James needed to **pay **for his crime, not plead mentally challenged. But he kept his mouth shut and accepted the pampering June and her staff lavished on him during his recovery. He was sore and he found it hard to get around, so the help was doubly welcome.

Mozzie stayed close as well, although after pestering Neal intensely one night about what Peter would do next and what Neal would do if Peter chose not to return to the Bureau, he subsided when Neal had snapped him. Moz said nothing after that, only stared with that round eyed, unnerving look that made it appear he never blinked. Neal felt badly but not enough to make amends that night. Sometimes Moz was just too ….. much. He didn't want to have his inner most fears relentlessly analyzed with a sure expectation of the worst.

June on the other hand, was certain all would be well when the Burkes returned. "They need some time to themselves, dear," she replied when Neal had finally broken his self - imposed silence on the subject with her. "But I am convinced Peter will be back to work again, although I must confess I hear he has several job offers waiting if he doesn't. Dear Arthur would love to have him as his own private investigator and with the fees Arthur charges, they wouldn't have to live in a townhouse in Brooklyn!"

At last going back to work, Neal, who was indeed relegated to light duty and case file reading, made sure he did nothing to put himself on the radar of Charles Peterson, temporarily in charge of White Collar. Peterson was nearly Hughes' age and clearly thinking more about retirement than cases but he made it clear he wanted no trouble. Neal intended he did not have any and was so quiet, Diana and Jones teased him about it. Hughes met them all for lunch one day and talked shop. Neal confronted him with the question uppermost in his mind when they had a moment alone. Hughes admitted he had heard nothing from Peter either but he was certain Peter would be back, as he had only a few more years to go to reach twenty years. No use in giving up a good pension, Hughes said gruffly. The older man himself was obviously in a transition stage; when they talked cases Hughes was completely involved and clearly itching to come back. But when he talked of traveling with his wife and watching his grandchildren grow, it was a different story.

All of which left Neal feeling that FBI men were a weird lot, all in all.

Then, one Saturday where Neal had indulged himself by sleeping in very late, the phone rang. Irritated, as he was certain it was Moz on the line with some other trivial bit, he skipped the caller ID and barked, "What now, Moz?"

"For some reason, that greeting really worries me," Peter's voice came through the phone, warm and amused. "What's going on?"

Neal sat up in bed. "Peter!"

"Neal," his partner said in that tone that mixed fondness and reproach, all at the same time.

Bleary eyed, Neal glanced at his watch. "Hey, it's what? Six a.m. out there? What are you doing?"

"Watching the sunrise with a beautiful brunette on the beach," Peter replied and Neal could hear Elizabeth's bubbly laugh in the back ground. "But you didn't answer my question. What are you – and Mozzie – doing?"

"Nothing illegal," Neal hurried to reassure him, a smile lighting his face. "We were experimenting with some different wines last night and we had a bet-"

He could almost see Peter holding up his hand. "Never mind." Neal heard El in the background again and then obviously a decision had been made as Peter said, 'I'll meet you back at the hotel.' Returning to Neal again, he said, "Sorry about that. El says hi, by the way."

"Tell her hello back," Neal said warmly. _God, he missed them._ "How is Hawaii?"

"It is beautiful," Peter admitted. "But I think I'm shopped out and sick of Hawaiian music."

"Philistine," Neal said fondly.

"Whatever. Now, how are you doing? Diana told me you came back to work last week. How is it going?"

Neal's glow of happiness evaporated. "You talked to Diana?"

"She called me about the Whitman case. I did the undercover on that one, not you." Peter said briskly. "So stop sulking."

"I wasn't. Sulking, that is." Neal attempted to recover lost dignity. "And yes, I am fine. Truly, fine."

"Have you seen your father lately?" Peter asked quietly.

Irritated, Neal snapped. "I suppose that was Diana too."

"No, I asked her to keep me informed before I left. She told me you were thinking about it. That's all. What did you decide?" Peter sounded like he was about to go into interrogation mode. _Just like the old days._ Only this time Neal felt warmed by the concern.

He swallowed. "I saw him yesterday. He… well, he looks like a broken man, Peter. He is so passive; maybe they have him on drugs. I wanted to hate him and I still do when I think of what he did to you but, I'm not sure he's worth the energy of hate anymore."

There was a silence on the line for a moment and then Peter said, "That's good, Neal. Don't dwell on him. You have a life of your own to lead and James made his own problems a long time ago. Time to move on. You are free of him. And his legacy."

"Speaking of," Neal hurried to change the subject; he didn't want even the shadow of his father to mar this phone call, "how are you doing? Made any decisions yet?"

"I'm doing fine," Peter replied but Neal heard the unspoken, 'now' at the end of that sentence. "We really needed this time together. It has helped us both a lot." There was a pause and Neal could hear the ocean in the background for a moment. "However, we will be back at the end of the week. We leave here tomorrow. Going to stop and see El's parents – I am so looking forward to seeing Dr. Mitchell again – then my parents. And I've had contact with the Bureau; suddenly they don't want me gone for another month."

"White Collar?" Neal asked breathlessly, his heart pounding.

Peter sighed. "Somebody has to watch you."

_**WC WC WC**_

Peter's first week back was hectic but happy_**.**_ Everybody was overjoyed to have him back, none more than Neal Caffrey. His partner looked tanned, happy and relaxed. Everyone stood around expectantly (mystifying Peter) when he walked into his office for the first time. To his surprise, everything looked just where he had left it. Sometimes OPR could be slow to return items. Then he noticed one extra thing on his desk. A small, ornate silver frame with a photo of flustered Barry Harvey standing out on some Manhattan sidewalk with several huge brightly labeled boxes of …. adult entertainment? And there was pleased looking Mozzie standing off to the side in delivery uniform. In Neal's best calligraphy, (Peter recognized that) the matte was inscribed, "Just Desserts."

Peter laughed so hard he nearly fell into his chair.

Diana was first inside, followed by Jones and Neal. "We thought you'd like that, boss."

"Neal and the little guy came through," Jones observed with a contented smile.

Neal shrugged, radiating false modesty. "A lesser effort but still so satisfying." He caught a brief, faraway expression on Peter's face. "Sweet?" He asked curiously.

Peter, reliving the nightmare of his arrest aftermath ever so briefly, said simply, "So very sweet." Gathering his thoughts, he said, "I've got to show El; she is going to love it."

After a breakfast of decadent pastries and fancy coffee, (Neal again) they got back to work. Cases had piled up since Peter was away and there was a lot to do. As usual when Peter got on a roll, it was all systems go on the case files. Any doubt was soon erased that he was back on the job. Diana was in and out of his office, with armloads of files. Neal had his own pile of cases to ponder. Jones worked the phones. File clerks ran this way, agents ran that way. But, unlike before, everyone was smiling; the boss was back and in rare form. The air crackled with energy. They started on a mortgage fraud and art forgery and things began to be White Collar normal once more. Peterson was pleased, stayed in his office and left them to their own devices. His whole tenure smacked of temporary and this time, Neal, Diana and Jones vowed privately, Peter would get that corner office of Hughes', if they had anything to say about it.

Neal lingered at the door of Peter's office as five o'clock loomed. "Well, you're back all right."

Peter shrugged on his jacket. "You sound thrilled," he remarked, a little wary.

Neal shrugged. "It was easier with Calloway. We sat around until the next hot tip; then we drove around aimlessly. Less work."

Peter caught his arm and gently propelled him to the door. "Get out of here," he said in exasperation.

They went down the stairs together, Neal snatching up his fedora on the way out, still chattering. Peter looked long suffering.

Jones and Diana watched, gathering up their own possessions to leave. "They're baaack," Diana said in the approved fashion.

Jones shook his head smiling. "Better believe it."

_**WC WC WC**_

A few days later, June held a victory celebration party at her gorgeous mansion, assisted by Elizabeth. An assortment of people showed up, friends of the Burkes, and friends of June who were overjoyed that Senator Pratt's true legacy was out in the open. By necessity, not many of Neal and Mozzie's acquaintances appeared. Mozzie wandered around, showing off an eclectic collection of very strange stuff. Arthur Anderson popped in briefly. Thankfully, at least where Jones, Diana and Neal were concerned, Landon Shepherd did not show. Peter definitely had mixed feelings about her involvement but he had been through so much lately, he didn't want to start in on another new worry. He decided it was easier to let the pieces fall where they may. Hughes and his wife stopped by but didn't stay too long. Jones enjoyed one of his prize cigars out on the terrace while Diana peered over June's record collection.

"June, I can't thank you enough for everything you did," Peter said over the music and the chatter. He stood with his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. She leaned against him, her arms around his waist. Since his release, El was always holding him, touching him. Peter decided he was fine with a clingy wife. It felt so good.

"Well, it was all in a good cause. Byron and I met Terence Pratt once, during his first campaign for Senate. A truly odious man. I'm glad the truth has finally gotten out about him."

Elizabeth reluctantly relinquished her hold on her husband for a moment. "I will never be able to thank you enough for what you did. When you came over that first night, I think you saved my sanity."

Peter flinched a bit at hearing the intensity of emotion in El's voice. June grasped both of Elizabeth's hands warmly. "I was just so happy to be of some help." Turning to Peter, she added, "And Arthur is serious about wanting you to work for him, Peter. He told me to tell you he would wait a few years after you finish at the FBI. It is something to think about."

Peter nodded seriously. "I will. I do want to finish out my twenty though first. Reese Hughes keeps calling to remind me of pensions rightfully earned, as he calls it."

June looked shrewd. "That's not the only reason though, is it?"

Peter smiled and glanced down at Elizabeth. "No. It isn't just that. I have to make sure Neal finishes out his time and gets off the anklet. I started that commitment and I will finish it. Also, the Bureau has taken a beating lately from politicians and the wrong people (he thought of Calloway and that pompous little jerk Harvey, who had been demoted out of OPR for his mishandling of Peter's investigation. Plus there was the strange business of a widely circulated photo around the FBI building.) in positions of authority. I guess I'm idealistic," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile, "but I would like to see it get back to where it was. Or at least not be regretful of being an FBI agent again."

Smiling, June touched his shoulder and brought Peter's head down for a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I think you'll do just fine in that regard."

Standing nearby, Mozzie muttered, "Mistake, Suit." Peter and the women laughed. Neal stood nearby, feeling better than he had in a long time. He had finally found a world he belonged in, nearly lost it but, defying the odds, got it back again.

Later, standing outside on the terrace, Peter and Neal stared at the brilliant, full moon. They sat at the table, Peter with his beer, Neal with his wine. The night was cool and there was a promise of autumn in the air. "Beautiful sight," Peter remarked with a trace of wistfulness in his voice.

"It is lot better when you're a free man, right?" Neal remarked, guessing the mood.

Peter turned, with an earnest look on his face. "If we can keep out of trouble, you're almost home yourself, Neal."

"I know," Neal replied quietly. "I suspect that is our new motto; no trouble."

"We can't afford any more," Peter said bluntly. He turned to Neal directly. "I mean it, Neal. We can't go over the line again like this."

"Peter, what you mean is that I can't ask you to go over the line," Neal clarified. "And I won't." At Peter's sharp look, he modified his statement. "All right, I won't ever ask you **casually** to go over the line. And I will look for a better way first."

Peter stared at the moon, his expression momentarily bleak. Neal didn't have to be psychic to know he was reliving those days in prison. "I made mistakes here. Too many." Making an effort to change his mood, he added, "But I think we can turn this to our advantage. Make a new start. We drifted, Neal, both of us. Maybe it is time to right the course. Refine our technique."

Neal stared. "What, second star to the right and straight on till morning? Peter, are you going nautical on me? You're taking that sextant way too seriously."

Peter smiled. "Maybe."

Neal took a swallow of wine. "So, where do you think we'll be four years from now?"

Peter looked thoughtful. "Four years from now? You'll be a free man. And I'll be at twenty years plus at the Bureau. Hard to say."

"You are thinking of staying past twenty at the Bureau?" Neal persisted.

Peter glanced at him in mock annoyance. "What are you getting at, Neal?" He took a swallow of beer and regretfully put down the now empty bottle.

"Nothing," Neal shrugged. "Just wondering."

"I'm going to play it by ear," Peter replied. "Right now, I am seriously attracted to the idea of leaving the Bureau, which is something I never thought I'd hear myself say. But they are good people at the Bureau and if they all run away like I'm considering, who will police the politicians and catch the crooks?"

Neal made a dismissive gesture. "One and the same there."

Peter smiled. "Probably. But I also have to consider El too. I know she would be happier if I left the Bureau and I don't ever want to subject her to this kind of a nightmare again." He looked at Neal. "But I know you're up to something, so let's have it," Peter declared abruptly, leaning back in his chair with an expectant smile.

Neal was secretly chagrined. For a man who made his living deceiving people, Peter always read him so easily. It was demeaning. _However…_ "Well, Sara called last night. It seems Sterling Bosch would be really, really interested if you were to come on the open market. And of course, they are interested in me for my expertise," he added, with a futile attempt at modesty. "We could be a package deal again."

Peter shook his head. "I'm not sure I'm up to another round of working with you after we finish this FBI stint. Too much wear and tear," he added with a tragic sigh.

"Ha, ha," Neal replied. "Well, I told Sara you might not be up to the challenge-"

Peter shot him a look. "Oh, how thoughtful of you," he said darkly.

Neal looked smug. "Just looking out for you. I don't want you to get in over your head."

Peter gave a snort of disbelief. "Delusions can be comforting. However, in the here and now, I think somebody mentioned earlier solving every case upon my return. So, what do you say?"

Neal smiled; a genuinely pleased smile. _This must be what a family reunion was like when you actually liked your relatives_, he thought happily. "Oh, I'm in. All in."

They chatted a bit over a new loan case Peter had just gotten that day. Jones joined them, then Diana, and Mozzie, who demanded to know what 'their' new case was about.

June and Elizabeth stood inside, looking at the group outside.

"Well, they seem involved in something," June observed.

"A new case. Some sort of loan scam. Peter was intrigued by it on the way over. Something about a woman named Ashley Hamilton, a loan officer at some credit union."

"Ashley Hamilton! I know her," June exclaimed. "And I really cannot stand her. Arrogant hussy! What's all this about?"

"We can find out quickly enough." With a sudden grin, Elizabeth said, "I think Burke's Seven, with one substitution, Ellington in for Ellis, rides again."

June looked intrigued. "Tell me more."

Elizabeth started to explain and they both laughed while going outside to join the others.

_**Thank you all for staying with the story until the end and thank you so very much for the nice reviews. **_

_**To those of you who have kindly put me on author alert; there will probably be some stories posted in the future that are not White Collar. These are older stories. I'm sure I'll be back with more White Collar in the near future.**_


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